


Love Games

by angelswatchingover



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2014 Winter Olympics, AU, Hockey, Hockey Player Dean, Hockey player Sam, Homophobia, Ice Skater Castiel, M/M, Olympics, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-09 14:33:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 57,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelswatchingover/pseuds/angelswatchingover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are stars on the US Hockey team at the 2014 Olympic Games in Sochi.  Dean has everything under control until he meets a blue-eyed figure skater who somehow gets under his skin and throws his perfect plans for a loop.  The last thing he needs right now is the complication of a relationship and a scandal here in front of the whole world's unforgiving media!  And when his brother gets injured on the ice, he realizes that fate is a sadistic bitch who is pretty much out to get Dean Winchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Faceoff

**Author's Note:**

> **************** ON TEMPORARY HIATUS ******************
> 
> I am a huge fan of both hockey and figure skating and become obsessed with crazy sports like luge and curling once every four years. So I thought I would combine my love of Supernatural, hockey and Olympics and write a fic with hockey player Dean and ice skater Cas. Plus, I was inspired by [ this photo ](http://lipglosskaz.tumblr.com/post/72708545661/red-bull-edit-spam-7-10) of J2 in hockey jerseys and [ this edit ](http://houseangelos.co.vu/post/67352683478/lawrence-kansas-after-pontiac-angels-defense-man)of Dean as a hockey player.
> 
> Disclaimer - I am not and never have been an Olympic athlete. I don't know what life is like at the athlete's village or the experience in general for the competitors. It's all from my imagination and all for fun. Enjoy!

Dean steps off the bus into the cold snowy air and shivers, as much from anticipation as from the weather. He looks around him and realizes, with no small amount of awe, that he is in the company of a few thousand of the best athletes in the world. This is it -- the Olympics! There are two things he’s dreamt about and worked for since… well as long as he can remember: holding up the Stanley Cup and wearing an Olympic gold medal. 

His NHL team back home is well on their way to the Stanley Cup and the US Hockey team is projected to be a major contender here in Sochi. Not to mention, if he continues his current scoring streak he’s practically a sure thing for the Art Ross Trophy this year. Dean has his life meticulously planned out and it all centers on hockey. Sure, dedicating so much of his life to the job doesn’t really leave time for anything else, but he can live with that. 

Dean glances behind him, searching out his little brother. He made sure they would be rooming together here in the Athlete’s Village and he wants to find Sam and get settled in their room. He can really use the rest. He’s exhausted and has a raging migraine from the flight here. Damn, he hates flying. Even back in the States, he prefers to drive to away games if he can get away with it. Back when he was a rookie, his teammates would tease him endlessly about it, but hockey players are a superstitious breed and if the man who is now their captain tells them it’s ‘cause he has a better scoring record when he drives his beloved ’67 Impala, well they’re more than happy to let his little oddity slide. So what if he keeps it to himself that he is terrified of the metal death traps? 

He finds Sam, standing by the side of the bus already with his phone out taking pictures. The giant girl has an ear to ear grin pasted across his face. 

“Dude, seriously, with the pictures already? We’re gonna be here two weeks. Can this wait?” Dean grumbles at his brother.

“Dean, can’t you gimme just a moment?” Sam huffs and turns the camera on his big brother, “Smile!”

Dean points at the phone growling, “Sammy, take that picture and it will be the last thing you do.”

“Ha! You need me to feed you the puck. I’m untouchable. Suck it!” Sam smirks but doesn’t take the picture anyway. Dean isn’t above punching him and he knows it. 

“Let’s just get our shit and get to the room. I’m beat!”

Dean feels an arm sling around his shoulder and hears a Cajun drawl from beside him, “Aww, trouble in paradise? Now you do what your big brother says, Sammy.” Benny, his longtime friend and current teammate here at the Olympics arrives just to antagonize Sam.

“It’s Sam,” the younger Winchester huffs.

“Fuck off, Lafitte,” Dean says as he shrugs off his friend. 

Sam gives the defenseman a glare before turning to find his bags. Sam has never really liked Benny, which is pretty rare because Sam likes everyone. But Dean knows his brother has a reason not to like the man. 

It started the year Dean was drafted into the NHL. It was only a few months after their father had been killed in a car crash. Dean was grieving the father he worshiped and, for the first time in his life, he was away from the brother that had always kept him grounded. 

Benny was also a rookie that year and the two men became fast friends. Maybe it was their shared rebellious streak, or their newfound freedom, or the big paychecks for the first time in their lives. It was probably a combination of all three but Dean and Benny found themselves in trouble repeatedly that year. 

The two began a partying tear that included booze, drugs, women, fights, bad press, and finally an arrest. Dean was told in no uncertain terms that if there was one more incident he would be kicked off the team, first round draft pick or not. Dean forced himself to clean up and Benny opted for rehab during the off season. He had come back to training camp a changed man. He stayed clean and had a great year on the ice but he was traded just before the playoffs that season. Sam, having been added to the roster after Benny left, never really got to know Benny but continued to have a distrust of the man. 

But Dean knows he can trust Benny. He just isn’t about to give his baby brother details as to why. As far as he’s concerned, Sam will never know about all that happened that year. But, of course, that means that Sam has never has quite warmed up to his brother’s friend, always watching the man with suspicion. 

And now, all three of them are on the US Olympic Hockey Team which means this is the first time they will be competing together. Benny, the bastard, knows that Sam doesn’t like him and takes any opportunity to mess with the younger player. It’s only Sam’s second year in the NHL so, from Benny’s point of view, the kid is still a rookie. And Benny is the one person who can get a rise out of Sam. Dean can just see him tense up and bristle under Benny’s teasing. And Benny knows it, too, if that satisfied smirk is any indication. 

Dean turns to his friend, “Dude, stop messing with him. He may look tall and wirey but trust me, you don’t want to piss him off. He’s lethal in a fight.”

Benny chuckles, “What, and I’m just so cute and cuddly?”

Dean sighs, completely exasperated with this tension between his friend and his brother. “No, you’re a fucking goon,” he tells Benny teasingly. 

“Aw, now that just hurts my feelings.”

“Remind me again how many penalty minutes you’ve racked up this year.” Dean says, rolling his eyes, “Just cool it with Sam, huh?”

“You got it, brother -- one big happy family. Here comes baby bro now,” Benny motions to Sam, who has returned with his bags and a scowl for Benny. 

“See you later, man. We’ll meet up for dinner?”

“Sure thing, Dean,” Benny says and turns to find his own roommate. 

“Dean, are you sure about Benny?” Sam asks as they walk into their building.

“Yeah, man. Just… trust me, I have my reasons. He’s cool. Anyway, get used to him. He’s covering your ass behind the blue line for the next two weeks.”

“It’s not what he does on the ice that’s I’m concerned about.”

Dean stops walking and grabs Sam’s elbow, turning the man to face him. “Listen, he’s clean now. And all that trouble I got into with him? _I_ made my own choices, Sam… _me_. So if you want to blame someone for that shit I’m right here. But you need to stow your crap with Benny for now ‘cause I want that fucking gold around my neck and it ain’t happenin’ with you two goin’ at it like a couple of teenage girls. Got it?”

Sam thinks about this for a moment then nods, “Sure, Dean. We’re good.”

“Good,” Dean grins, “’cause I already told him we’d meet him for dinner.”

Sam sighs but agrees. Dean knows that Sam’s animosity towards Benny is born out of a protective instinct. But he also knows that Sam is a damn smart hockey player. He knows how to put aside personal feelings to focus on the job. It’s part of what has made him so successful in the NHL. The kid’s a machine on the ice, focused on lethal. And Dean couldn’t be prouder.

Dean gets to the room and walks straight to the nearest bed, dropping the bags on his way, and crashes face first into the soft pillow. He is asleep before Sam is done unpacking. 

Later, they find a table in a pub in the athlete’s village and Dean looks around at the eclectic crowd. There are athletes everywhere here speaking in languages Dean has never heard. There are pockets of people huddled together around tables, strategizing in hushed anxious tones, their nervousness palpable. There are the athletes who are here because they may be the best in their countries but know they don’t have a chance of actually winning against this international competition. They are just honored to be here, drinking it all in, relaxed and eager. And there are the stars, the ones on commercials and front pages of the sports papers in their home countries. 

Sam and Dean easily fall into this group. Dean squirms uncomfortably under the constant stares and whispers. A few have asked for autographs and pictures, which Dean reluctantly but pleasantly gives. He’s certainly used to smiling for cameras and answering questions at interviews. He pastes on his famous smile and charms everyone who comes over to meet him. 

He looks up from his beer and notices a pair of women approaching his table. One is a sexy brunette and the other a shorter, pretty blonde. The taller woman screams sophistication, dressed in a brown leather pencil skirt with matching high heel boots and a cream colored scoop neck cashmere sweater that hugs every one of the woman’s curves. The blonde is definitely the more casual of the two. She has a warm smile and is dressed comfortably in tight blue jeans, tan suede boots with fur accents and a fitted blue flannel shirt. 

The blonde smiles at Dean and asks, “Excuse me, aren’t you Dean Winchester? And Sam Winchester?” she adds, turning towards the younger brother. 

“Yep, and this here is our teammate Benny Lafitte.” Dean smiles as he gestures towards his friend. 

“Lafitte?” The shorter girl pauses for a moment, thinking before responding, “of course, Detroit Redwings, right? I knew you looked familiar,” she says as she reaches to shake Benny’s hand. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Benny says, nodding at the ladies.

“I’m Jo Harvelle, Canadian, snowboarding, and this is Bela Talbot. She’s on the British Biathlon team.”

“Snowboarding, that’s cool,” Sam says excitedly. “I definitely want to check out some half-pipe while I’m here.”

“Oh, you should,” Jo grins, “that’s my best event!” 

Bela chimes in, “We wanted to see if we could get a picture with you.”

“Absolutely, c’m here.” Dean signals for the girls to get closer as they start digging in their pockets for their phones. Jo and Bela stand on opposite sides of Dean, leaning in to pose for the picture. They then move around the table to pose with Benny and Sam as well.

Sam invites the women to sit and have a drink with them and, when they agree, Dean immediately gets up to go find two more chairs. The ladies sit on either side of him as he signals for a waiter to order a round of drinks.

Pretty soon, more pictures have been taken, more rounds ordered, and more people have pulled up chairs. Members of the US Hockey team have arrived, along with NHL teammates from back home who are representing countries all over the world. Before long, their quiet dinner for three has become a rowdy party. The games don’t officially start until after the opening ceremony tomorrow evening so no one at the table is has to worry about competing the following day. Dean is feeling the relaxing effects of the alcohol and the casual atmosphere. He is a bit afraid it’s the calm before the storm of competition begins, but is able to put that thought in the back of his mind to have fun with his teammates tonight.

As more people arrive, Jo and Bela’s chairs crowd closer to Dean’s until he is sitting back with one arm wrapped around each girl. Bela is extremely sexy with her cupid’s bow shaped lips and her soft accent. Dean could definitely see himself taking her back to his room. She has her hand on his thigh and is leaning into him as if she has the same idea. He starts talking to her about her sport, thinks shooting a rifle is pretty cool, but all she seems interested in talking about is how much she was going to make off of endorsement deals and appearances. Dean is bored with the conversation within minutes and is feigning interest in something she is talking about when Jo catches his attention.

“So, how’d you and Sam get into playing hockey?” 

Glad for the distraction, he turns a little towards Jo, “My dad. He was a hockey player. Had us in skates practically the minute we took our first steps.”

“Really? Well, that makes sense. I’ve seen you guys play. You’re really great together.”

Dean laughs, “Let’s just say I can’t remember a time in my life when Sam and I weren’t in an ice rink by 4 AM each morning. My dad had us doing hockey drills for hours before most kids our age were even out of bed. Gave me and Sam a huge advantage, though. We can practically read each other’s minds on the ice. It’s probably why we both got picked for the Olympics.”

Jo looks a little shocked, “Wow, that’s some hard core training.”

“Well, my dad played the minor leagues, never made it to the NHL. I think he wanted us trained so that we would make the pros. Guess it worked, right?”

Jo smiles and nods at Dean, genuinely interested in the conversation, “I guess it did. My dad played the minors too. Y’know, now that I think about it, I think they might have played together. Was your dad John Winchester -- the one who played for the San Antonio Rampage for a while?” 

Dean thinks back. Yeah, he was pretty sure they spent a season, maybe even two, in Texas. He remembers it being hot as hell. “Yeah, I think I was like twelve or thirteen when he was there. He got moved around a lot so it’s hard to remember exactly when it was. Who’s your dad?”

“Bill Harvelle. He was a third line left-winger, not exactly someone who was in the news much.” She gave a small laugh, thinking of the hard life of a minor league athlete. 

Dean turns to her and removes his left arm from Bela’s shoulder, snaps his finger and exclaims, “Hey, wasn’t that the year they went to the playoffs?” Bela, who is pretty absorbed in her cell phone barely notices he is no longer paying any attention to her. 

“Yep,” she nods, “made it all the way to the conference championship and got taken out by the Lake Erie Monsters.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Dean shakes his head, remembering his dad after that loss. It was a tough one and afterward, he had gone on a drinking binge that spanned the whole off season. “Damn, that sucked. I thought they had it in the bag that year.”

“They should have. I remember they were up three games to none in the series. It looked like a sure thing then out of nowhere the Monsters came on with a major attack, got in a few lucky goals and just like that took the series.” Jo’s expression changes, Dean senses a bit of sadness there. “My dad was injured in that game, never played again.”

“Aw, man, sorry,” Dean gave Jo a gentle squeeze.

She immediately covers for her brief moment of vulnerability by shrugging casually, “It’s alright. Actually, it worked out OK. I always hated it when he was gone so much. We barely saw him at all during the regular season. Now he’s selling cars up in Quebec. No travel, no worrying about him getting injured every game, get to see him whenever I want. It’s nice.” She takes another swig of her drink and huffs a little laugh, “Fate’s kind of a psycho bitch, right? You never know when she’s gonna throw in a crazy bounce of the puck that’ll change your life.”

Dean just nods and smiles. He wants to empathize but he doesn’t believe in leaving anything in his life up to chance. He’s got every step of his life planned out. No room for bitches like fate to come in and mess things up. He thinks about the firm grasp he keeps on everything in his life. He’s captain of his team and he sees it as his job to make sure they are successful, using wins as lessons and carrying the burden of losses squarely on his own shoulders. He’s done everything to keep Sammy close too, making sure they were on the same team so he could keep an eye on his kid brother. Yeah, sometimes his control is tenuous and he feels like he is hanging on by the skin of his teeth but he’s gonna white knuckle it if he has to because he’s got not time for fate’s curve balls. 

Speaking of Sam, he looks across the table and notices that he’s got a brunette named Ruby sitting on his lap feeding him a shot. Jo said to watch out for her, she is a puck bunny whose been making the rounds since athletes started showing up. This girl is trouble with a capital T and Dean is ready to get his brother out of here.

Dean finishes his drink and puts the glass down on the table. Untangling himself from the women, he gets up and excuses himself, “Excuse me, ladies, gotta hit the head.”

As he stands up he realizes just how drunk he is. Shit, he’s got practice in the morning. He can still function but he’s going to feel like crap when he wakes up. He stumbles his way through the crowded pub, stopped a few times by admirers, before finally making it to the bathroom.

After washing his hands, he splashes a little water on his face in a vain attempt to clear his head. Damn, he didn’t realize how drunk he was until he stood up. He can’t remember the last time he felt like this. Maybe the alcohol is stronger here is Russia? Looking up into the mirror, he sees that his reflection is blurred. That can’t be a good sign. He leans in toward the mirror and focuses on the bruise on the left side of his chin, now barely noticeable. He smiles, thinking about the fight he was in with that douchebag defenseman from the Flyers during Saturday night’s game. He rubs his chin remembering how much fun that was but damn, that guy could hit like a fucking Mac truck. 

“Hmph,” a gruff voice comes from behind Dean, “and I thought _figure skaters_ spent a lot of time in front of mirrors. Are you going to stand there all day?” 

Startled, Dean spins around and realizes immediately that it was a bad idea. He’s pretty sure he stopped moving but for some reason the room hasn’t. He stumbles forward hands going up haphazardly and runs right into the guy, inadvertently shoving him up against the wall, falling into him until his body is pressed up against the stranger’s and their faces are just inches apart.

Dean has just a second to take in the man’s startled face and is caught by his blue eyes. He’s seen plenty of blue eyes in his time but they are usually lighter, sky blue. This guy’s eyes are dark and stormy, a deep, rich, sapphire and for the briefest moment all he can think is _beautiful_ , before he hears the man’s voice.

“W-what?!” The man narrows his eyes at Dean.

“Huh?” Dean freezes, did he say that out loud?

“Get off!” The man pushes Dean backward with both hands. 

Dean manages to find his balance and puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture, “Dude, sorry. You surprised me… and, I’m… definitely a little drunk.”

“Yes, I noticed. You and the rest of the Neanderthals in your group have been making a nuisance of yourselves all evening.” The man straightens out his white button down shirt and tie, although no matter how much he tries, he can’t seem to keep it straight. It’s kind of funny and Dean almost laughs but the stink-eye the man is fixing on him stops him.

“Man, who pissed in your Wheaties? We’re just havin’ a little fun before the games start. Y’know, goodwill and all that shit?”

“I’m sorry, these Olympics may be just a joke to someone who, in two weeks, will be going back to their ridiculously overpaid life of chasing balls with sticks. For the rest of us, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and we’re taking it _very_ seriously.”

Dean is too drunk to be offended by this guy’s attitude; he actually kind of likes the way he is getting under this guy’s skin. Never let it be said that Dean can’t antagonize with the best of them. He can see a slight blush building on the guy’s cheeks and can’t help grinning every time he does that little squint thing with his eyes. He is pretty sure this man would be shooting lasers out his eyes if he could. 

“OK, so you know I’m here to play hockey -- and it’s a _puck_ , by the way, not a ball. How ‘bout you? Wait… let me guess… bobsled. No! Curling, definitely curling,” Dean laughs at his own joke. 

The man rolls his eyes and turns to the sink to wash his hands, completely ignoring Dean. 

Dean waits a moment to see if he is going to get an answer. When it’s pretty obvious the conversation is over he shrugs and turns toward the door. With his hand on the door handle he hesitates. Something makes him turn back to the man and say, “Well, see y’ around… and… good luck.”

He makes his way back to the table where is brother sits still tangled up with that Ruby chick. Dean doesn’t like the look of her, but is quickly distracted by Bela, who grabs his arm and pulls him back down onto the seat the moment he is close enough. Suddenly, she doesn’t seem quite as pretty as she had before. Her perfume is a little too strong and her lipstick too red and he feels claustrophobic crowded in the small seat. 

He reaches across the table to shake Sam’s shoulder to get his attention. “Sam, man, we gotta get out of here. I’ve got ice time scheduled in the morning and I’ll never make it if we don’t stop drinking now.”

“Don’t worry, Dean, I’ll get him back OK,” Ruby coos at Dean.

“No deal, party’s over Cinderella.”

Benny laughs from the other side of the table and gets up to help Dean drag his moose of a brother out of the bar. Sam grumbles all the way back to the room, drunkenly telling Dean he isn’t a kid and can’t be ordered around by him anymore. Dean walks his brother to his bed until he falls, fully dressed, onto the mattress. Dean takes his brother’s shoes off and checks the alarm on his cell phone before stripping down to his boxers and getting into his bed.

Sleep doesn’t come quickly. He lays in his bed and for some reason the man with the blue eyes keeps coming to mind. He shouldn’t be bothered that this one pretentious jerk hates him but it’s eating at him anyway. Why should he care? There are plenty of people who don’t like him, probably a few hundred thousand fans in Philly alone that are pretty pissed off this week after the shutout he handed to the Flyers last weekend. He tells himself it doesn’t matter; that he probably won’t even run into the guy again, didn’t even get his name. 

He wonders about the guy’s accent. He spoke perfect English but definitely with a hint of an accent, rounding out his Os and clipping his Rs. And that voice, all whisky and gravel, wow, it had really taken him by surprise. He’s curious about the man - what country he’s representing, what sport he is competing in. But why should he care? The dude was an asshole, no sense of humor at all. And he really can’t stand Dean. Dean hopes he never runs into the guy again… sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, so, hockey is pretty much my favorite sport. If you don't watch it, seriously, try going to a game some time - it's a fantastic sport (don't try to become a fan by watching on TV - its NOT the same). Anyway, hockey has a very colorful and unique vocabulary all it's own (its part of the sport's charm) so whenever I use hockey lingo in the text of a chapter, I will try to put a little definition of what that term means in the end notes for anyone not familiar with hockey terms. Hope it helps.
> 
> Chapter title is Faceoff - this is where two players wait for the ref to drop the puck to start the play
> 
> Dean calls Benny a goon - a goon is an enforcer, someone who gets in a lot of fights on the ice, often to protect the goal scorers and make a statement. It is often meant as an insult meaning the person is more of a fighter than an talented skater and puck handler, although in Dean's case he is using it teasingly.
> 
> Bela is referred to as a puck bunny - this is a term that means a female hockey fan, but it's often used negatively to refer to those who are more player groupies and not as interested in the game itself


	2. Slapshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean moves away from Benny and Gordon and dresses quickly, laces up his skates and grabs a practice stick on his way out to the ice. He is the first to get to the entrance when he sees that there is already someone there.

Dean wakes up the next morning to the horrid sound of his phone’s alarm and a pounding in his head. Damn, it’s been a long time since he had a hangover like this. No time for sleeping it off, though, he has ice time he needs to make. He groans and drags himself out of bed and feels his way into the shower, barely opening his eyes. The water feels invigorating, though, and after a few minutes Dean is starting to feel a little like himself. 

Wow, Russian shots hit him harder than usual. Apparently, though, not as bad as Sam. When he kicks the side of Sam’s bed, his little brother lets out a pitiful moan, rolls out of bed and heads straight for the toilet to expel whatever is left in his stomach. Dean is dressed and ready before Sam has made it out of the bathroom. He sits on his bed, back against the headboard, shaking his head at Sam, who is leaning against the doorframe groaning about being hit by a train. 

“Yeah, man, that shit messed with me too. Can’t remember the last time I got that drunk on so few shots. You OK in there?” Dean asks his brother when he hears another moan from the man. 

“I think we need to call off practice this morning.”

“No can do, Sammy, we can keep it light, just some drills, but we’ve got to stay sharp and limber. We face Slovakia in a couple days.” Dean picks up the phone, “what’d y’ say to a nice greasy breakfast for that hangover?”

“Oh! You suck, Dean.”

“Yeah, but you love me.” 

When a woman on the other end answers he orders them both coffee, toast, juice, and eggs with a side of fruit for Sam and hash browns for himself. He hangs up the phone and digs in his duffle bag. 

“Hey, Sam, heads up.” He tosses a bottle of Advil to his brother when he pokes his head back out of the door before he pulls out his phone to check his e-mail. Nothing of import shows up so he continues to browse the headlines while he waits for their breakfast to arrive. He stops short when he sees a familiar face looking back at him from the phone’s screen. It’s the guy from last night.

Dean immediately clicks on the picture to find out more about the irritating man. The article says that his name is Castiel Krushnic and he’s a Moscow native and figure skating champion, who has been training in the US for the past 12 years and is returning to Russia now to compete in the Olympics. So that explains the accent and perfect English, thinks Dean. Apparently, this guy is a favorite to win the gold, not bad. 

Dean starts clicking through related links and pictures. There are lots of pictures of him on the ice but Dean’s favorite is one that looks like a candid paparazzi shot. He’s just standing outside. It’s sunny and windy and he is wearing a suit and too big tan trench coat and, again, a backwards blue tie, blowing off to the side. Dean huffs an internal laugh at the fact that the guy can’t ever seem to get his tie right. The wind has blown Castiel’s dark hair into a mess of spikes going in every direction. 

But once again his eyes are what catch Dean’s attention. They are a bright mesmerizing blue. But it’s more than that. There is something deep behind them, a melancholy almost sad look. He wishes he could figure out what it is about those eyes that affect him so much. 

I mean, the guy’s attractive, that much is a no brainer, but Dean’s around attractive guys all the time. He stamped down that feeling a long time ago. Stopped looking, stopped thinking about that part of himself. There are no “out” players in the NHL and Dean sure as hell doesn’t want to be the first to go down _that_ path. 

Dean holds his finger over the picture until he feels the familiar vibration asking him if he wants to save it. Does he? Why? His finger hovers over the screen as his brain fights with some weird impulse inside of him. Why is he even thinking about saving a picture of this guy he met once, in a freaking bathroom. A guy who was rude and dismissive and obviously thinks even less of Dean than he always has about himself. 

He hears the bathroom door open and presses yes before he can talk himself out of it. 

Dean and Sam arrive at the Bolshov Ice Dome and head to the locker room where the equipment manager already has their practice gear waiting for them. As they open the door to the locker room, they hear Benny’s voice, sounding unusually wound up. Benny is usually cool as can be so Dean enters the room cautiously, wondering what’s got his friend upset. Of course, it’s Gordon Walker. The guy’s their second line defenseman and complete bag of dicks. He is smart, skilled, and scary on the ice, but a bag of dicks nonetheless. 

The two are arguing about an altercation they got into on the ice about a month back. The incident had started with a check from Benny that escalated into a fight. They were both ejected from the game but only Gordon ended up with a 3 game suspension and fine from the NHL, not for the fight itself but for the shit he gave the ref about it afterwards. Benny and Gordon play for teams back home that are longtime rivals and Dean can’t see this going anywhere good. 

Just as he is about to step in and break these two apart before it escalates, Garth, the starting goaltender, steps between them with a hand on each of their chests. Freaking Garth, man, with his hippy-dippy zen attitude. The guy is as tall as Dean but probably a buck-fifty soaking wet and still manages to be a wall in front of the net with his quick reflexes and an uncanny ability to read players. Dean likes him a lot. He has an easy way about him and gets along with everyone on the team. He’s looking forward to playing with him during the Olympics and kind of wishes they were on the same team back home.

“Yo, Benny… Gordon, take a chill, alright?” Garth says, looking between the two as they bore into each other with icy glares. “It’s all good. Bad calls, good calls… they happen in every game. You’ve gotta roll with it. Put it behind you so we can be a team out there.”

Dean sighs thinking about how crazy the Olympics are for professional athletes. You take a bunch of guys that have been rivals all year, playing against each other, fighting with words and fists and all their energy one week and throw them together into one stressful group the next and expect them to be a coherent team. Well, these guys are professionals and he is going to remind them of just that.

He heads straight over to the site of the tension and stands directly between the two men. “I got this, Garth. Walker, cut the shit. I need you and Benny to be seamless out there. This ain’t helping.”

Gordon steps in closer to Dean, “Fuck you, Dean. You boyfriend’s little stunt cost me money, man, three games off.”

Dean clenches his hand into a fist. It itches to punch the smug look off Gordon’s face. But instead he takes a deep breath and proceeds slowly, “Listen, man, I saw that game. It was a fair hit.”

“It was a dirty cross check.”

“We’re not debating this here. The officials made their call. Get past it.” Dean glances to the side where Benny is standing, stone faced. “You too, Benny.” He says and looks back and forth between the two seething men, “Hey, we good?”

“I’m good, man,” Benny nods, never taking his eyes off of Gordon. 

Gordon just glares back. Dean thinks that is an ominous sign. Gordon could definitely be described as… vindictive. He’s got to get this in check, and soon. 

The tension in the room is still palpable when the door down the hall opens and everyone immediately steps back from their defensive positions. Bobby Singer has just walked in and they all know they need to play it cool or face the wrath of their head coach. He tells them all to finish getting geared up and head out the ice. 

Bobby was an old school hockey player who skated alongside of some of the greats. He can tell stories of games he played with Wayne Gretsky, pranks he played on Mario Lemieux and loves to tell the tale of the day he stopped a Bobby Orr breakaway his rookie year. Bobby is tough as nails and puts up with absolutely no crap from his players. Dean is thrilled to have a chance to skate for him. 

Bobby had spent a couple of years early in his career on a team with his dad and Dean can’t help but feel some sort of connection to his father through the older skater. He can still remember early morning practices with Bobby and his dad. Bobby was the man who taught Dean that there was more to hockey than the mechanics. It’s more than puck-handling, skating, and shooting. Bobby taught him how to love the game, how to have fun with it, and how to feel the rhythm of the sport in his bones. 

There are times when Dean is in the zone. In those moments, for him, there are no screaming fans, no prying reporters, no contract negotiations. Just him, a stick in his hands, this brother by his side, and a mile of ice in front of him. And in those moments, he is the closest to happy that he can remember. In those moments, he is magnificent. 

Dean knows he owes that to Bobby. He’s never told him, of course. He was a kid the last time Bobby coached him. His dad stayed in the minors while Bobby went off to bigger things in the NHL. Now, for the next couple weeks at least, Bobby is _Coach_ Singer. And Dean is going to do everything he can to make the man proud.

Dean moves away from Benny and Gordon and dresses quickly, laces up his skates and grabs a practice stick on his way out to the ice. He is the first to get to the entrance when he sees that there is already someone there. Dean watches, mesmerized for a moment, as he recognizes the skater on the ice. It’s Castiel, and he is flying around the rink, skating backwards poised for a jump. 

He looks different today, on the ice. Yesterday, he was stiff and hidden behind his poorly fitting suit jacket and tie. This… this is obviously his element. He is wearing tight fitting yoga pants and a blue pullover hoodie with black gloves. His hair is completely disheveled, windblown from moving so fast across the rink, and his face is pleasantly flushed from the cold of the ice and the exertion of skating. But it’s those damn eyes that cause Dean’s brain to malfunction for just a moment when they catch his own. 

Castiel stops abruptly when he sees Dean standing at the edge of the ice and skates over to Dean, spraying snow everywhere with a perfect hockey stop. Hands on his hips, he stares down Dean and insists, “What are _you_ doing here?”

“We’ve got the ice reserved for practice now.”

“Actually, _I_ have the ice reserved. I think you’ve made a mistake.” 

And when Castiel glares at Dean like he’s the one in the wrong here, Dean thinks he can’t remember why on earth he saved a picture of this guy onto his phone earlier. He must have been crazy to forget what a completely pretentious dick he was. 

Dean shifts his stick to his other hand and takes up a more aggressive stance. “No. No mistake. I checked the confirmation this morning. We’ve got this ice so you may want to head out so me and the other Neanderthals can get our practice in. Despite what you think, I _can_ read.” 

“I checked my reservation too.” Castiel stands firm in front of the entrance to the ice and crosses his arms over his chest. “And who do you think you are? Sorry, the famous Dean Winchester may always get his way but not today, not with me.” 

“What? Don’t give me that shit that you tried to pull yesterday -- poor amateur athlete versus pro hockey player. From what I’ve seen, Castiel Krushnic isn’t exactly living on the streets!”

“Oooooh, so you do know who I am? So what was all that last night?”

The other hockey players have begun to exit the locker room and are starting to queue up behind Dean. Gordon narrows his eyes at Dean, a strange leer that gives him an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. Dean catches Sam out of the corner of his eye, looking back and forth between Gordon, Dean and Castiel. Sam’s got great instincts and by the look on his face, he can read the strange tension in the air. 

Dean chooses to ignore Gordon and Sam and address Castiel. “Just found out this morning and-”

Castiel’s eyes widen for a second before a mischievous smirk crosses his face before he flirts, “Oh, Dean, looking me up? I’m flattered but-”

“Don’t be,” Dean growls as he cuts the man off, “Just happened to recognize a picture of the dick from the bathroom.”

Dean stops himself the second the words are out of his mouth and groans internally. Goddammit! Half his team is standing behind him now wondering what the hell happened in the bathroom last night. Fuck! He’ll never learn to keep his damn mouth shut. Castiel squints at him and looks like he is about to respond when they are both saved by Bobby’s voice.

“Hey!” Bobby storms from behind Dean grabbing him by the front of the shirt. “Knock it off! Pretty sure we can work this out without you starting an ice brawl with a _figure skater_!” He lets go of Dean and turns to address Castiel, “You, how much longer to do you have the ice for? Sounds like they may have double-booked us.”

“I scheduled it all morning.” Castiel sighs, “Listen, I really need to work on some spins.”

Dean stops him, “Well, _we’ve_ got to get some shooting in and get used to this ice.”

“Cool it, Winchester,” Bobby growls. “Listen, you can’t need the entire rink to do some spins, right? And we can keep our practice to the other side. That OK with you?”

Castiel hesitates for a moment before finally sighing in defeat, “Yes, that’s agreeable.” Castiel nods to Bobby and immediately turns back out onto the ice.

Bobby turns around and addresses his team, “Ok, Lafitte, you take the defense, and head to the gym. No ice time for you today. This morning will just be workouts if you’re on D. I’ll stay here and work with offence. I need Henrickson and the Winchesters working on passing. We need to get you three in synch. Garth, you’re here with us. I need you blocking shots.”

At Bobby’s direction half of the team heads back to the locker room to get out of their gear while Garth, Dean and the other members of the offence head out onto the ice with a bucket of pucks to start their drills. They keep to their side of the rink, working on puck handling, passing and shooting while Castiel stays at the far end of the ice working silently on his own tasks. 

There are four lines of forward players and they work in rotation, each line taking turns on the ice, passing and shooting and generally trying to learn how to synch up with their new line mates. 

At first, Dean finds himself stealing glances at the figure skater. After all, he’s used to keeping an eye on the whole ice rink. It’s just habit. It’s not like he’s _interested_ in what the guy is up to. He just wants to make sure that the hockey players and the figure skater aren’t getting in each other’s way. They aren’t. Castiel seems extremely focused on what he is doing and the players on his team are at the top of their game, rarely missing a pass. 

Henrickson is a great left-winger. It’s a tough position, often filled by players with a left-handed shot, and one that requires great teamwork with the other linemates. He, Dean and Sam work on moving together, passing the puck, and learning each other’s movements. Dean has seen Victor play many times, they are in the same NHL conference after all, but this Olympics is the first time they will be playing together and the three are working hard to get themselves into a rhythm. It’s going well, too. Dean is surprised how quickly Victor picks up on the chemistry that he and Sam already have and works himself into the team. 

Dean’s line starts by skating into the neutral zone with the puck and passing it between themselves as they move towards the goal. Working as a team is all about communicating on the ice, both with words and movements and Dean finds that the three are quickly getting into synch and even start having fun puck-handling around one another. 

Sam passes a puck to Victor but Dean jumps in and intercepts the pass, laughing at his teammate’s surprise at his unexpected move. Sam catches on quickly and chases down his brother to try to steal the puck back but Dean is fast, skates around behind the net, and sinks a wrap-around goal. 

“Nice one, Winchester,” Victor nods as he grabs another puck and starts to head back to the blue line. “Let’s see if you can do it again, though. Head’s up, Sam.” He passes the puck to Sam, out of Dean’s reach this time and the game of keep away starts to escalate. The three men speed around their side of the ice, moving the puck gracefully between themselves when Dean and Sam both rush to get a puck along the boards. Sam gets there first and as Dean swipes his stick along the board to take possession of the puck, his skate catches and his arms swing quickly, scooping up the puck with his stick into an inadvertent slap shot… that is headed directly towards Castiel.

“Cas!” Dean yells, but it’s too late. The skater wasn’t paying any attention to the hockey players, completely absorbed in perfecting his scratch spin. Time seems to switch to slow motion as the puck makes a sickening thunk sound when it hits Castiel just above his left eyebrow. Dean watches in horror as his head snaps to the side and his body follows. He goes down, sideways, onto the ice. 

“Sam, get medical!” He yells to his brother as he is skating as fast as he can towards the figure skater who is lying motionless. He stops in front of Castiel and squats down to check his condition. The man is out cold and there is blood on the ice. Dean has seen plenty of hockey injuries. Blood on the ice isn’t even a rare occurrence but for some reason looking at that growing splotch of dark slush is turning his stomach. 

From the corner of his vision, he sees that someone is skating towards him holding out a towel, which he reaches up and grabs without taking his eyes off of Castiel. He knows better than to move him so he gently touches Castiel’s face with the towel, sopping up the blood that is running across his forehead, spilling out in deep red trails under his cheek. Shit, that’s definitely going to need stitches. There is a gash above his left eye at least an inch long and he decides the best plan is to keep pressure on it until the medical team arrives. 

Dean feels like he is going to be sick. Hockey injuries are a dime a dozen, he has seen broken bones, lost teeth, and bloody noses and he rarely bats an eye. For some reason, though, this is affecting him. Maybe it’s that when hockey players get injured, it’s just part of the game. You don’t play this sport expecting to retire with a full set of teeth. 

There is commotion going on around him. His teammates have gathered and are milling around him, waiting for medical help to arrive. He doesn’t hear anything, though. He is quietly trying to get Castiel to wake up.

“Come on, man. Wake up. Help’s on the way. Castiel. Castiel!”

A hand grabs him on the shoulder and pulls him away. It’s Bobby, with the EMTs right behind him. Dean reluctantly moves away from Castiel so that they can do their work. He skates off to the side to watch as they work on the man. It seems like forever. They wrap him up with a neck brace to immobilize him when Sam skates up to Dean’s side and tells him that they should leave. Bobby has cancelled the rest of practice and everyone is heading back to the locker room.

Dean won’t move. “Sam, I’m not going anywhere ‘till I see if he’s OK.”

“There isn’t anything you can do. We should leave him to the doctors.” Sam looks like he is going to start leaving the ice but Dean stays put.

“Shit! This is my fault.” Dean isn’t looking at his brother, who almost misses it when he mumbles, “If he didn’t hate me before he sure will now.”

Sam turns back to him, “How do you even know him? And what was all that about last night?”

That gets Dean’s attention. “Huh?” He shakes his head and looks at his brother. “Oh, nothing. Ran into him at the bar last night. He was really kind of a dick. I didn’t even know who he was until I saw a headline about him this morning. Apparently, he’s a pretty heavy favorite to win the men’s figure skating.” Dean runs a hand through his hair. “What if I ruined his chance to compete?”

Sam looks like he doesn’t know what to say. He shifts uncomfortably for a moment before saying, “Accidents happen, Dean. You can’t blame-”

But he never finishes that thought because they hear a moan from Castiel and his eyes flutter open, if just half way. At the same time, a tiny brunette woman comes storming out onto the ice. A guard tries to stop her, before she shoves her ID into his face snarling, “Meg Masters, I’m Castiel Krushnic’s manger and you need to let me out there now. Your lax security has gotten my client injured and you don’t want to face the wrath of this woman.”

Dean and Sam both watch the scene with open mouths. The woman is small but scary. 

“What the hell happened here?” She is yelling as she marches towards the crowd on the ice. She’s in tight pants with knee high boots and is managing to move across the ice without falling on her ass. Dean is secretly both impressed and a little scared of this woman. 

She is intercepted by Bobby, who meets her on the ice, “Kid got hit in the head with a puck.”

“A puck?! He’s a _figure skater_! And who are you?”

“Bobby Singer, ma’am. I coach the US men’s hockey team. We got double-booked on the ice with your skater there so he agreed to share it with us. There was an accident; stray puck hit him on the forehead.”

The woman glares up at Bobby and points a finger at him, “You better hope he’s OK.” At that, she shoves past him over to where Castiel is being moved to a gurney. She looks down at him and shakes her head, “Hey, Clarence. What kind of mess did you get yourself into this time?”

Castiel tries to say something, but it doesn’t look like his eyes are focusing and his speech is slurred. Dean groans internally. He has seen this before. It sure looks like a concussion. He knows they can be tricky. He has seen guys take a puck to the face and come back into the game after just one period. He has also seen a concussion keep them off the ice for a couple of months. Dammit! Opening ceremonies are in a few hours and Dean doesn’t know if Castiel will be well enough to attend or even to complete. 

The medical staff slide past him with Castiel laying still on the gurney. The rest of his teammates have already left and Bobby walked out with Meg, trying to smooth over the irate woman. Dean just watches in silence until the ice is empty save him and Sam. He feels a tug on his arm and hears Sam’s voice.

“C’mon, Dean. We need to go. Hey, he’s awake now, it’s gonna be fine.”

Dean shakes himself clear of his stupor and looks at his brother, “Sorry, man, it’s just-”

“I know, Dean,” Sam tells him with all the sympathy that only his sappy little brother can manage. Dean is pretty sure he doesn’t know at all. He is pretty sure he doesn’t even know himself. What the hell has gotten into him?

Dean doesn’t like surprises and this guy? This guy has just thrown a wrench into all of Dean’s perfectly laid plans for how these games were supposed to go. He sighs and lumbers off the ice, vowing to find a way to make this right, and maybe get those deep blue eyes out of his head at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and sorry this took longer than expected to update. Life has been a little crazy lately. As always, feedback is appreciated. Plus, I am my own beta reader so feel free to let me know if you find any mistakes (it's so hard to catch your own). Thanks!
> 
> Not too much hockey terminology in this chapter that isn't pretty obvious I don't think but here goes. Gordon accuses Benny of cross checking him. This is when a player checks another, usually in the back, using his stick. It is a penalty because it can cause injuries.


	3. Power Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly, it comes back to him. He remembers hearing someone yell ‘Cas’ then feeling a searing pain. What the hell? Those careless hockey players had hit him with a puck!

Castiel hears the sounds of the beeping machines and is assaulted by the overly-strong smell of disinfectant before he opens his eyes. It takes him a moment to clear his head enough to figure out where he is, and why. The last thing he can remember is that he was practicing his spins on the ice. He takes a deep breath and scrunches his eyes shut. When he does, he feels an odd stretch of the skin on his forehead and a spike of pain radiating from his left temple. 

Slowly, it comes back to him. He remembers hearing someone yell ‘Cas’ then feeling a searing pain. What the hell? Those careless hockey players had hit him with a puck! 

He tentatively reaches his hand up to his forehead and winces, sucking in a sharp breath when his fingers encounter a soft bandage. He looks around to find that he is alone in the room and decides he needs to use the bathroom, not just to relieve himself, but to see what his face must look like. Not that he is vain, but, really, he has to go out and skate in front of the entire world in a couple of days. He doesn’t want to look like he just came from a bar brawl.

He slowly sits up and feels a blast of dizziness, a swirling rush of blood that clouds his eyes and makes his ears ring. He puts a hand over his eyes and sits perfectly still until the sensation clears. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and shivers as his bare feet hit the cold tile floor. And why did they feel the need to strip off his pants? It’s a head injury for pete’s sake. But here he is, in a thin hospital gown with his ass hanging out. 

He wonders absently if his favorite sweatshirt was destroyed, between the blood and them probably cutting it off he sighs wondering how his life suddenly has taken such a strange turn. He shuffles his way to the bathroom and heads straight for the mirror. There is a thick white bandage on his forehead and he makes a disgusted face at the crust of dried blood in the hair along his temple. 

Surprisingly, he doesn’t have black eye but he still wants to see what is hidden under that bandage. He digs a fingernail under the top corner of the tape and slowly peels off the white gauze. He never was one to tear a band-aid off all at once and he scrunches up his face at the spikes of pain he feels as the bandage comes slowly off, taking with it hair and catching on one of the stitches.

When the gauze is removed, it exposes the stitches on his forehead, just above his left eyebrow, and an ugly bruise surrounding them that is a grizzly rainbow of sickly reds, blues and purples. He leans in closer to examine the stitches. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. The black thread is tied into tiny, tight knots around his puckering skin. He sighs, thinking about how terrible he looks. 

He turns to head back to his bed just in time to be greeted by a serious looking woman in a grey pants suit, shirt butted all the way up to her neck. Her auburn hair is tied up into a perfect knot and not a strand is out of place. 

“Castiel Krushnic?” She greets him with a hand out to assist him back to his bed. “YA doktor Naomi Ostrovsky. Kak ty sebya chuvstvuyesh?” 

Castiel recognizes his mother tongue when the woman asks how he is feeling. It washes over him like a comfortable blanket, like home and family. He answers her in Russian, “Like I was just hit in the head with a 90 mile an hour hockey puck.”

She gives him a sort of smile and a nod. “Well, at least your memory is intact, it seems.”

“Yes, I remember getting hit but nothing after that.”

“You were brought to the hospital with a head injury. I am the neurologist that treated you. We took x-rays and found no fractures, however, you did suffer a concussion. You-”

“Doctor, Can I skate?” Castiel cuts her off with his most important question, 

“Well, there are a lot of variables when it comes to concussions. We will need to watch and see what symptoms you display and how this affects your vision, reflexes and equilibrium. And you may call me Naomi.”

Castiel leans back on his pillow and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath to keep himself from panicking at the idea of not being able to compete. 

“Mr. Krushnic, I understand this must be difficult for you and I am certain you are in a hurry to resume your activities, but you must understand that head injuries are complicated and unpredictable. We performed a CT scan and an MRI to determine if there was any bleeding or pressure on your brain. Thankfully, your injury appears to be largely superficial, however observation of any continued symptoms is required to determine if you have any minute traumatic brain injuries.”

Castiel nods at the appropriate times during the doctor’s rundown. He really just wants to know if he can compete and it doesn’t sound like she knows anything. 

Naomi leans closer and gently touches Castiel’s stitches. “I see you removed your bandages on your own. Are you going to be one of those difficult patients?” 

Castiel feels duly scolded and sighs, “I’m sorry, I just wanted to see… is that a problem?”

“They were due to come off soon anyway. You suffered a significant injury. This is a bit of a nasty crack in your chassis. You will need to be patient and let your body heal itself the way it was designed to do. We just need you to give it time.”

“I don’t have time to be patient. I’m supposed to be at the Opening Ceremonies in… I don’t know, what time is it?”

“It’s just after two in the afternoon.”

“That means I have less than six hours before I have to be there.” It comes out as a plea and Castiel hates himself (and those damn hockey players) for the whole situation.

“I’m afraid that we need to keep you here overnight for observation. I understand that this is important to you, but your health is more important and we would rather have you ready to compete on Monday.” The doctor’s stiff exterior softens just a bit as she almost smiles and adds, “We are all rooting for you, Castiel. You need to get better so that you can win the gold for Russia.”

There is that familiar conflict that Castiel has been bombarded with since deciding to represent his home country in these games. He loves it here. He loves the warmth and hospitality of the Russian people. The rich culture and heritage, the stunning architecture, the colors, the shapes and lines, gleaming gold and bold reds, they all feel like home. He remembers walking in Moscow as a child, thinking the colorful onion-topped roofs of Saint Basil’s Cathedral were like something out of a fairy tale. 

Yet his home country has also become a source of fear for himself and others, who now have to hide their sexuality. He has kept up with the political news and has been hearing the stories of what has been happening here for months. 

Castiel is proud of his heritage, proud of the beautiful country in which he was born but also feels that pang of shame that he will be representing a country where he could risk imprisonment for speaking out in public about who is really is. It’s not that he hasn’t met with his share of ignorance from the people in his new home. Certainly there have been Americans who have both accepted and rejected him for who he is. At least there, though, he thinks he sees the tides slowly turning in the right direction. He fears his birth country may be taking a step backwards. 

He nods his head for the doctor, not wanting to expose his internal conflict. She is, after all, rooting for him to win.

Naomi grabs her pen then, poised to take notes. “Alright, have you experienced any dizziness?”

“A little when I first woke up.”

“But it went away?”

“Yes, it was just a moment of vertigo but it hasn’t returned since I have been awake.”

“And your vision? Any blurriness? Spots?” 

“No. I can see fine.”

“Good, that’s good. I’m hopeful that we can expect a quick recovery. We will need to keep a close eye on the vertigo, though. Please let a staff member know immediately if you experience any more dizzy spells.”

The doctor walks Castiel through several tests. She has him walk around the room, bend his head this way and that, and follow all of her instructions as she takes notes about his abilities. All is looking good until she asks him to tilt his head to the side and the room begins to spin, sending a sickening nausea to his stomach. He has to grab onto the edge of the bed to wait for the sensation to go away and he sits down and looks up at the doctor.

Naomi hums and takes some notes before telling Castiel, “It’s alright. It has only been a couple of hours. This may be a temporary side effect of the swelling or the fluid in your ears. Relax now. I will prescribe an antivert for the dizziness and see if we can’t get that cleared up.”

Castiel agrees to rest, gets back into the bed and closes his eyes when the doctor leaves the room. He is alone with only his thoughts and his fears. Vertigo, he knows, is a death sentence for a skater. He needs perfect balance to be able to spin and land a jump. For the first time, Castiel is truly scared. He puts his hands over his face and takes a deep breath, fighting against the lump building in his throat and the prickle behind his eyes. He won’t be defeated. The doctor said this may just be temporary. He just needs to calm down and get control of himself. 

“Knock, knock,” comes a voice from the doorway and when Castiel looks up he sees his coach, Balthazar coming into the room, looking less together than he has ever seen the man before. Balthazar is usually all charm with his British accent and his swagger, but today he looks tired.

“Balthazar,” Castiel greets his coach.

“Cassie, good to see you finally awake. You gave us quite a scare.”

“I’m… a little scared myself. What if I can’t skate with this concussion?”

Balthazar strides over and sits on the side of the bed and takes Castiel’s hand between his own. “What did the doctor say?”

“She doesn’t know yet. They want to keep me overnight. I think the biggest concern right now is the dizziness. I had some vertigo.”

Balthazar looks contemplative, purses his lips and shakes his head. “We will deal with this. You don’t skate your short program for several days. You just need to rest and heal. Now tell me, what on earth were you doing paying hockey?”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t playing hockey. I was just sharing the ice with the hockey team. It was double-booked and I thought it would be fine. It was at first. They stayed on their side and it wasn’t a problem until…”

Balthazar scoffs and gets up off the bed, “And your willingness to cooperate had nothing to do with one Dean Winchester?”

“What?! No! He’s an insufferable cretin!”

“Then he’s _exactly_ your type.”

Castiel tries to look affronted, “What do you mean?”

“Cassie, who do you think you’re fooling? Tall, hot, bad boy? How is that not your type? You forget, I’ve watched you get your heart broken by men like him for four years. And you spent just a bit too much time last night at the bar watching him and complaining about what a complete ass he was. I’m surprised you didn’t take him right there on the men’s room counter.”

“Balthazar!”

“Don’t deny it, darling. You were totally crushing on that hairless ape.”

“Never! I know what he’s like and I don’t do one night stands. Besides, I happen to know for a fact that he’s straight.”

Balthazar stops cold, eyes widening as he grins, “So you did try to hit that.”

“No! I want nothing to do with him. It’s… I just know, OK?”

“Hmmm. Loverboy came by, you know.”

“What, here?”

“Yes, showed up a few minutes after you did. He stayed for a while, trying to get information but Meg chased him away. I believe her exact words were that she was going to sick rabid dogs on him if he didn’t leave the premises.”

“Well, good! I hope he stays far away. This is all his fault! Look at this.” Castiel gestures to his forehead where the stitches stand out prominently.

Balthazar shakes his head, “Yes, do you look a bit of a mess. How about a clean-up?”

Castiel groans softly at the idea of getting cleaned up. He feels disgusting and he is pretty sure he smells just as bad. “That would be wonderful.”

“Alright, I’ll go get you some clean clothes and toiletries. In the meantime, you rest now.”

“Thank you, Balthazar.”

After his coach leaves, Castiel is left to the quiet of the room. His mind wonders to the conversation that he had with Balthazar. How could the he possibly think Castiel had any interest in Dean Winchester? Drunk last night, belligerent this morning, and a womanizer all the time! What about Dean could possibly interest him? 

What indeed? The man _is_ gorgeous, probably the most attractive person Castiel had ever met, in fact. He is tall and fit with a strong jaw that rocked that sexy stubble effortlessly. His mouth is absolutely perfect, soft and pouty and Castiel has to admit that kissing those lips would be heavenly if they were attached to anyone other than Dean Winchester. And when they locked eyes last night there was no denying the little flip his insides did when he looked into those eyes that were a riot of greens and golds.

Maybe that’s why he was so defensive. Well that and the fact that he was shoved up against a wall by a perfect stranger. If he was being honest with himself he did have to admit that he was strangely affected by the hockey player. But that was wrong, completely wrong. He couldn’t let himself be attracted to another man who was careless with people’s hearts. And there was Anna…

“A-hem,” Castiel hears a soft cough and snaps out of his thoughts to look up and meet the eyes of the man he was just fantasizing about. He feels the traitorous rush of blood to his cheeks and prays with everything he has that his blush isn’t noticeable.

“What are _you_ doing here?” 

Dean looks down, and scratches the back of his neck. It seems to take him a moment to figure out what to say. “So… um… yeah… I just… wanted to check on you and… just… sorry, man.”

Castiel’s brain finally catches up enough to realize that Dean Winchester is standing in his room, looking ridiculously awkward and actually apologizing to him. 

“I’m… well, I have a mild concussion and I have to stay here overnight, but I’ll live.” It comes out a little harsher than he had even meant it. 

Dean takes a tentative step towards Castiel, “Oh, man, you mean you can’t go to the ceremonies tonight?”

“That’s right. It seems getting hit in the face with a hockey puck isn’t great for your health.”

“Shit,” Dean mumbles and looks down. His fists clench and he looks like he wants to punch something. “Look, Castiel, I think we got off on the wrong foot. And me giving you a freaking concussion probably didn’t help either. I just… just sorry... for last night and this morning.” Dean’s voice trails off quietly.

Castiel has a hard time keeping the fire of his anger lit. Dean just looks – defeated and sounds so sincere. He never would have believed that the man who he had built a certain image of in his mind would be so genuine. Had he demonized the man before he even gave him a chance? Castiel lets some of his anger dissipate and feels an immediate weight off of his shoulders.

“Thank you, Dean. I agree. Maybe we can start over?” He holds out his hand and bites his lip before saying, “Hi, I’m Castiel, nice to meet you.”

Dean looks from the outstretched hand up to Castiel’s eyes and his face lights up as his mouth turns up into a smile. And, oh God, it’s beautiful. The way the crow’s feet crinkle at the edges of his eyes and his tongue peeks out to wet his lips as they stretch and he does this tiny little bite of his bottom lip with his teeth. And Castiel is officially screwed. Balthazar is right, he is totally crushing on the gorgeous hockey player. 

Dean steps forward and shakes his hand, “Name’s Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you too.”

Dean is surprised when Castiel’s anger seems to fade and he looks down at the outstretched hand then up to his face. Those damn blue eyes are looking up at him with an expression of… hope? He can’t believe this guy is willing to put aside everything and just start over. 

After the animosity that had been seething between them since they met, Dean thought for sure there wasn’t a chance that Castiel would forgive him for the whole puck-to-the-face thing. He almost didn’t even come back. When he showed up at the hospital this morning he ran into Castiel’s manager from hell. Meg had all but threatened his life before he surrendered and left. It’s not like they would give him information on Castiel’s condition anyway.

He had decided, though, that he would wait a while and come back, see if everything had calmed down. He really just wanted a chance to make sure Castiel was OK and apologize. He had been beating himself up all day worried about the possibility of Castiel’s injury keeping him from competing. He couldn’t think of much worse than to have worked for this moment your whole life only to have it taken away from you by some jerk with a hockey stick.

Luckily, when he returned to the hospital things had calmed down. He hadn’t seen Meg in the waiting area so he went to Castiel’s room, but hesitated outside of the door, second thoughts halting his steps. Castiel obviously hated him, even before he brained the poor guy with a puck. He was pretty sure that he would get something thrown at him the moment he peeked his head through the door, or have security called. He thought the last thing he needed was to have reporters catch him being escorted out of the hospital by security.

He finally summoned the courage, though, and walked into Castiel’s room, clearing his throat to announce himself. And when Castiel had looked up at him what was that look? It was almost a blush? The moment had been awkward and Castiel had quickly gotten over his surprise to make room for the anger Dean had anticipated.

Castiel’s angry responses were enough to tell Dean he should just apologize and get the hell out of there, leave the poor guy in peace. But then something happened. Castiel’s anger seemed to fade. 

And now, he is looking up at Dean with his hand outstretched offering a chance to start over. Yeah, he thinks, that sounds pretty good and he returns that look of hope with a smile of his own, closing the gap between them and taking his hand.

“Name’s Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you.”

After that, they begin a friendly conversation, during which Dean apologizes about five more times until an exasperated Castiel finally tells him that if he says he is sorry one more time, he is going to give Dean stitches to match his own. Dean laughs and puts his hands up in surrender.

Castiel talks a little bit about his injury, tells Dean that there was nothing major found on the tests and that they are just observing him because of some vertigo. He grouses a bit about feeling so disgusting and the fact that his favorite sweatshirt was destroyed. 

But mostly, they talk about their sports. Dean learns that Castiel has to skate twice, once is a short program where he mostly has to demonstrate how well he can perform each of the required jumps and spins and movements, and then again a few days later he will skate in a long program that is more artistic and expressive. Castiel tells him how much better he likes the long program, even if his legs do burn by the time he has finished the almost five minute long workout. 

Dean tells Castiel how much he can relate to that. Some nights he clocks as much as 35 minutes of ice time in a game, sprinting back and forth with all he’s got, trying to keep an edge against the other players. He explains that the countries competing in the Olympic hockey games have been divided into three groups. The US will have to get past the first two rounds against Slovakia and Slovenia to play against Russia and the medal games. His first game is in a few days and he is itching with excitement.

He tells Castiel about Sam, how his little brother, who he learned hockey with growing up, is finally on his team and how much he loves playing by his side. He knows he is bursting with pride when he talks about Sam, he’s done it his whole life, but Castiel just listens and tells him how nice he thinks it would be to skate with family.

Castiel’s says his own family are mostly here in Russia although he now lives and trains in the US. He tells Dean how much he misses them, but wanted the opportunity to train with his coach, Balthazar, who would only do so out of his home in the US.

When Dean catches Castiel yawn, he looks up at the clock and realizes that he has been here chewing on the guy’s ear for over an hour. He has to go get ready for the opening ceremonies soon and should probably let Castiel get some rest too. He promises to visit again soon and reluctantly leaves.

He still feels terrible, though, knowing that he is going to go get ready to march in the Olympic Opening Ceremonies while Castiel is stuck lying in a hospital bed. An idea comes to him and he pulls out his cell phone and dials the number of Inias, a teammate from back home who is playing for Russia at these games. 

It’s late. The hum of the busy hospital during the day has quieted and Castiel is sitting in his darkened room alone. He isn’t ready to fall asleep yet, still wound up from the unlikely events of the day. Oh well, at least he feels better. After the afternoon guests all trickled off to find somewhere to watch the opening ceremonies, Castiel was finally able to take some time for himself.

He had been allowed to get a shower after a nurse applied a waterproof bandage to his stitches. It had felt amazing to get the sticky blood out of his hair and stench of sweat and something hospital-y out of his skin. He still hates the bandage, though, and peeled it off immediately following his shower. Balthazar had brought him some comfortable clothes to sleep in so he was able to change into grey sweatpants and a solid navy blue t-shirt.

He looks over at the nightstand, at the small stack of books and magazines that had been left for him. Nothing piques his interest immediately so he picks up a random sports magazine that is all about the Olympics and begins to thumb through the glossy pages. 

Castiel hears a quiet knock at the door and looks up. It is Dean, and oh my God, what is he wearing? He has on white pants with black boots. That looks nice enough. But the sweater! He is wearing a loud red, white, and blue cardigan with a patchwork of red and white stripes, the Olympic rings, two US flags, and a spattering of big white stars over a navy blue background. It looks like someone had an ugly Christmas sweater contest in July!

Castiel’s hand flies up to cover his mouth and the snicker that is itching to burst out of him. 

Dean catches the gesture and looks down at himself then back up at Castiel sheepishly. “I know, you don’t have to say a word. I look like I was vomited on by Fox News!”

Castiel does let out a snort at that. “Wow, just… wow.”

“Yeah, well, you shoulda seen it with the fucking reindeer hat I had to wear. Really completes the ensemble.” Dean shuffles awkwardly between his feet, “Y’know, required uniform and all.” 

Castiel’s jaw drops, “Reindeer hat? I must see that!”

“Yeah, not gonna happen.” Dean looks down, and rubs the back of his neck. It seems to take him a moment to figure out what to say. “So… um… I know that you missed the opening ceremonies so,” Dean lets out a small nervous cough, “I brought you something.”

Castiel looks down and notices a shopping bag hanging from Dean’s free hand. Curious, he raises his eyebrows at Dean.

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a soft looking sapphire blue sweater. “First, to say sor- I mean since your favorite hoodie was destroyed I got you a replacement.”

Castiel smiles, takes the sweater and pulls it over his head. He loves it. It’s soft and warm and his favorite shade of blue. He knows how good this color looks on him because it brings out the deep blue of his eyes. Castiel suddenly feels much warmer than just the comfort of the fleece hoodie should provide.

“Thank you, Dean. It’s very nice.”

“And, because you couldn’t come to the opening ceremonies tonight, I figured the least I could do is bring the ceremony to you.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows, confused as to what Dean means. A cocky smirk paints across Dean’s face as he pulls a tablet out of the bag. He sets down the bag and drags a chair over to sit right next to the head of Castiel’s bed. He taps a few times on the tablet screen and brings up a video, which he pauses before it begins.

“So, I recorded a bunch of stuff from the opening ceremony and thought you could watch it. And… well, just watch.”

Dean sits back in his chair and hands the tablet to Castiel who taps the play button only to be assaulted by a cacophony of noise. There are people all around dressed in the same star spangled cardigans that Dean is now wearing. He recognizes a couple of them, Dean’s teammates and some fellow figure skaters as well as the more famous skiers and snowboarders. 

He hears Dean’s voice, “Hey, Sammy, this is for the guy whose face we busted up this morning. Say hi!”

A gigantic man with long brown hair sticking out from under his reindeer hat (yes, the hats actually have reindeer on them and Castiel secretly vows he is going find video of Dean in his) turns around and smiles. 

“Hey!” Sam grins and waves, leaning towards the camera. “So sorry about what happened earlier. Too bad Dean’s got a terrible wrist shot and can’t figure out which side of the rink the net is on.”

“Screw you, bitch,” Castiel hears Dean’s voice say.

“Shut up, jerk, this is my message.” Sam grins into the camera. “Anyway, Castiel, we are all hoping you feel better soon.”

Dean walks around the crowd of athletes asking person after person to wish the skater well. It’s overwhelming how thoughtful everyone’s messages are. Some are silly, others sincere but all filled with hope for his recovery. The sense of good will among the athletes is moving. Castiel swallows a thick lump in his throat.

The messages stop when the American athletes are announced and the crowd of people begin to move forward together. Dean records everything so Castiel can almost feel as if he is there. As the camera passes through a threshold into the stadium, the sounds of the crowd become deafening, tens of thousands of people are in the stadium, cameras flashing and flags of every nationality waving a rainbow of national pride.

Castiel can’t take his eyes off the video until he gets that feeling of being watched and takes a glance to his side. He catches Dean, not watching the video but rather watching him. The man quickly looks away and directs his eyes to the tablet where the parade of athletes is now coming to a close and the entertainment portion is starting.

“So, uh, this part was pretty cool. They did this whole like light show thing. I hope it came out on the camera.”

Castiel chooses to ignore the fact that Dean had been watching him. He doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable and certainly doesn’t want to expose his own little crush to the man.

The two continue to watch the show, Dean narrating and pointing out his favorite parts of the show as well as laughing as he heckles parts that he doesn’t like. It is fun and comfortable and Castiel is enjoying the friendly camaraderie that he and Dean are developing. He finds that he really likes Dean’s sense of humor. He is kind of crude and cocky but it somehow suits him.

When the main show is over, Castiel brings his hand up to the screen to close down the video but  
Dean catches his wrist, “Not yet, Cas, there’s another surprise.”

Castiel takes a moment to look at the clock and he realizes how much time has passed. It’s now dark outside and the nighttime hush has taken over the hospital wing. He turns the volume on the tablet down so that he and Dean can still hear it, but it is quieter and calmer. It just feels more appropriately serene in the quiet night hours. Even his room is now lit only by the glow of the tablet screen. 

Castiel notices that he has inched closer to Dean, leaning towards the edge of the bed to share a good view of the screen. Dean, too now has his arm leaning on the bed and his chin propped in his cupped hand. It’s nice. Their shoulders are practically touching and Dean smells intoxicating, all musk and fresh air. This man turned out to be unexpectedly sweet and charming and thoughtful. That wasn’t supposed to happen. It was supposed to be easy to hate Dean Winchester. He was supposed to be the entitled, thoughtless, cocky man Anna had told him about. 

He shakes off these thoughts and presses play, watching as the camera goes dark for a moment. When it comes back on, he is looking at a man in a jacket with fur trim and a traditional Russian hat. The women standing around him are dressed in long coats with white fur trim and Russian folk patterns. 

The man introduces himself in Castiel’s native tongue as Inias, a hockey player for Russia who is on Dean’s team back in the US. He tells Castiel that all of the Russian athletes are rooting for his quick recovery and begins to walk through the crowd of athletes from his home country the same way Dean did with the Americans in the beginning of the video. 

Dean is still behind the camera and Castiel can occasionally hear his voice greeting the other athletes. Sam is walking through the group of athletes with him, shaking hands and looking like he is just excited to be there. 

Dozens of Russian athletes greet him through the camera, wish him well, blow him kisses and wave excitedly. At the end, Dean hands Sam the camera and Castiel catches out of the corner of the screen where he thanks Inias, gives him a quick bro-hug and tells him he’ll see him soon on the ice. And then it’s over.

Castiel doesn’t say anything. He is so moved by the kind gesture he is afraid if he tries to speak his voice will break. 

He turns his head a bit towards Dean to try to come up with the words to thank him for the video and sees that the man has fallen asleep, his head still held in his cupped hand but it’s now resting on the mattress next to him. Castiel gives himself a moment to take in the hockey player. His long lashes are resting on freckle covered cheeks and his soft looking mouth is closed in a slight pout. He is lovely, warm and hypnotic as Castiel listens to the soft rhythm of his slow sleeping breaths. 

He feels warmth and butterflies in his stomach and he sighs, knowing that he is feeling affection for Dean that is both unexpected and unwanted. There is no doubt that he was physically attracted to this man as soon as he met him, Dean is, after all ridiculously good looking. But he was sure that under that beautiful face was a corrupted soul, cruel and callous. But the man that he has spent so many hours with today isn’t that at all. He is funny and kind and charming and Castiel had enjoyed every minute of their visits today and really doesn’t want the magic of this serene moment to end. 

“Dean,” his whispers and nudges the man’s shoulder. He watches as Dean blinks awake and slowly focuses on Castiel. And for a moment neither one of them can look away. 

Castiel swallows and the movement seems to break the spell. Dean lifts his head and looks around, rubs a hand over his face and looks back at Castiel, “Sorry, guess I fell asleep.”

“It’s OK, listening to everyone speaking in Russian must be boring for you.” Castiel says quietly. For some reason he feels he needs to not break the hush of the room.

Dean looks at the screen and notices the video has stopped. “So, what do think?”

“I don’t know what to say. It’s… it was perfect. Thank you, Dean.”

“Cool,” Dean says awkwardly and rubs the back of his neck. “Cool. Well, I guess I better get going, let you get some sleep. You, uh, you want me to make you a copy of that? I just need your, y’know e-mail address.”

“Of course.” Castiel finds a pen and tears part of a page out of one of the magazines and writes his e-mail address along the side and hands it to Dean along with the tablet.

“Awesome. Well… see ya, Cas.” Dean says before clumsily backing out of the room. 

Castiel sighs and lays his head back on the pillow. Closing his eyes, he reflects on the strange day he has just had. How he went from a being smacked in the face with a hockey puck to being moved by the beautiful video he had just watched. The cacophony of emotions that he experienced today is overwhelming and all because of one Dean Winchester.


	4. The Neutral Zone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean sits down and drags his hand over his face, sighing. How did everything get so out of control? He had a perfectly executable plan coming into this Olympics and it definitely didn’t include the hot blue-eyed skater. Well, it’s time to get this plan back on the right track.

“Rise and shine, Sammy!” Dean is sitting on his bed tying up his boots, getting ready for a busy morning. Sam groans and rolls over, burying his face in his pillow. “Rough night?”

“Mmmm. Went to some after party and was out way too late. I never knew that Olympians could party like rock stars.”

Dean stands up and kicks the side of Sam’s mattress to get his brother moving. “Dude, you need to take it easy… and that’s coming from me!”

Sam slowly sits up and heads towards the shower. “Yeah, hey where were you, anyway? You just disappeared after the opening ceremony.”

“Told you, I went to take that video to Cas.”

“Cas? Oh, that skater from yesterday? That shouldn’t have taken long. And when did he become _Cas_? I thought you couldn’t stand him.”

Dean shrugs, “Turns out he’s not so bad.”

Sam leans his head out of the bathroom door. “Well that’s a far cry from – what did you call him before? Pretentious uptight dick?”

Dean decides not to meet his brother’s inquisitive glare and busies himself donning the rest of his official US Olympic team gear. At least this is better than yesterday’s cardigan. He is wearing a white tracksuit with red and blue subtle accents and a stylish sporty navy blue jacket. “Yeah, well, I figured I ought to make nice with the guy whose face I busted up. He’s alright, liked the video too.”

“Awww, look at you, playing nice and making friends with the other kids on the playground.”

“Shut up and get ready!” Dean grumbles at his brother affectionately. “We’ve got bullshit interviews all morning and I know how long it takes you to do your hair for the cameras.”

Sam just gives him a bitch face and returns to the mirror, no doubt digging around in his bag for all of the stupidly expensive product that it takes to keep his too long hair looking artfully tousled. 

Dean checks his own look in the mirror and thinks again of Castiel. The guy did turn out to be really great. He had completely expected the same reaction from the skater that he got from his manager. The guy had to be pissed, right? He’s stuck in a hospital instead of enjoying this whole Olympic experience and he mentioned that he wasn’t sure right now if he’d be able to compete. Just the thought of that makes Dean a little sick to his stomach. 

But Cas had offered him forgiveness, recognized that Dean didn’t think he deserved it but gave it anyway. And that gesture had meant probably more than it should to Dean. Why did it even matter? Its sports, people get hurt all the time. For some reason, though, Castiel felt important to him.

Damn, Dean thinks, what’s wrong with me? Why can’t I get this skater out of my mind? Sure, the guy is hot, but Dean is usually able to ignore _that_ part of himself. Even looking like hell lying in a hospital bed all bruised, stitched, and tired, Dean couldn’t help the little flip that his stomach made when he locked eyes with the man and shook his hand. 

Last night, he had had more fun sitting in a dark hospital room with Castiel than he has had with a real date in a long time. He can’t remember the last time he connected with someone so easily. And then there was that moment when Castiel woke him. He wasn’t quite awake yet, hadn’t put up his usual guard and he had caught the man’s eyes and just couldn’t look away. Holy shit! It had been crazy! He had held his breath, actually couldn’t fucking breathe for a moment with how much he wanted to close the few inches between them and kiss Cas. 

Dean sits down and drags his hand over his face, sighing. How did everything get so out of control? He had a perfectly executable plan coming into this Olympics and it definitely didn’t include the hot blue-eyed skater. Well, it’s time to get this plan back on the right track. He is going to go to his interviews today and answer all the questions just right and play his best hockey. And he never has to see Cas again. 

He takes out his phone to delete the picture that he was so stupid to save in the first place. He pulls it up and takes a look at it. What is it about this guy with those deep eyes and that ridiculous Constantine-looking trench coat? Well, no more, he decides. He is going to delete this picture and forget about the skater. But his brother comes out of the bathroom and he is quick to lock his phone with the picture still on it.

“And you’re on in five, four, three, two, one.” The director points at the interviewer and Dean paints on his press smile. He is hot under the lights and the unforgiving glare of the cameras, but he and Sam have been booked for interviews all morning. It’s his least favorite part of hockey but unfortunately, a part of playing this game. 

Well, at least this morning’s interview with Bob Costas was actually about hockey. He was able to talk about strategy and the challenges of forming a cohesive team out of a bunch of players from around the NHL who have only had a few days to learn how to play together. It was interesting and stimulating, but now that the serious interviews are over they have moved on to the lesser known news sites.

The woman sitting across from Dean and his brother now is a perky reporter for some online entertainment and gossip news site. They are doing human interest stories for the Olympics and Dean knows that the story of two brothers that grew up with a father in the AHL and now making it to the Olympics together is the kind of story those rags eat up. 

The reporter, Becky Rosen, has been staring down Sam as if he were a juicy steak and every time Dean looks over at his brother it takes everything in him not to laugh at the incredibly uncomfortable look on his face. 

“So, Sam,” Becky says with all of the wide eyed reverence of a teenage girl meeting their crush, “You and your brother have almost supernatural chemistry… on the ice. You are being compared to other great hockey brothers like the Richards or Dennis and Bobby Hull. Can you tell our readers how this developed?”

“Wow, even to be considered in the same league as the Richard or Hull brothers is an honor. I hope we can live up to that. Well, Dean and I come from a hockey family. Our father played in the American Hockey League and taught us the game. We’ve been playing hockey together as long as I can remember so I guess we just have so much experience together it just sort of comes together on the ice.”

Dean adds, “I think we spent more time in skating rinks than in school growing up. We were doing skating drills and passing and shooting the puck for hours each morning before most kids were even out of bed.”

“But it’s more than that,” Sam continues, “Our styles complement one another. I’m tall and have a long reach that I can use to control the puck and feed it to Dean, who has crazy speed and laser sharp aim. We even developed ways to silently signal to each other on the ice so we can quickly predict the other’s moves. It just works.”

Becky looks a bit bored with the technical hockey talk and unsurprisingly, changes the topic, “Our readers would really like to know about you as brothers. Tell me, are you close?”

Dean and Sam share a knowing glance, “Yeah,” says Sam, “we’re pretty close. Honestly, we were raised by a single father who had a pretty crazy schedule. Dean really stepped up and took care of us both.”

Dean squirms uncomfortably at the compliment. He has never been any good at taking honest praise. Becky catches his moment of weakness and pounces on it like a hungry lioness.

She turns her focus on him with a conspiratorial smile, “And Dean, we hear there is a new love in your life. What can you tell us about it?”

Dean’s jaw drops a bit and he catches his brother looking at him inquisitively out of the corner of his eye. He is about to panic. How the hell does this reporter know about him and Cas? And really there isn’t even anything to tell! I mean, yeah, he’s definitely into the guy but he wasn’t that obvious about it, was he? Who even saw them together? He can feel a blush creeping up his face and sweat start to bead on the back of his neck.

“S-sorry?” He tries to sound as casual around a thick swallow.

“Oh, don’t try to play innocent, Dean. The pictures have been all over social media this morning,” Becky is grinning now, wide eyed and practically salivating at the juicy gossip she has uncovered.

“Pictures? I don’t know-”

But just as his brain is about to go on overload, the large screen beside them lights up with a huge picture of him with Bela in the bar the other night, his arm around her shoulder. She is looking up at him and he is leaning down, probably to say something in her ear, he can’t really tell but it definitely looks like they are canoodling.

The realization that Becky isn’t talking about his _whatever_ with Castiel but instead is referring to Bela hits him with a wave of relief. Sure he had felt… well… _something_ for the guy but he wasn’t about to act on it. This isn’t the time and definitely isn’t the place to go exploring his occasional attraction to men. Nope, this picture with Bela is the perfect distraction and he is going to go with it.

Becky points to the picture, “Isn’t that you with British biathlete Bela Talbot? Tell me, is romance in the air of Sochi?”

Dean quickly regains his composure and smiles at Becky, “Yes, that’s Bela. We met her at the athlete’s village our first night here. Sorry, no juicy gossip for you, Becky, we just met and we’re only friends. You can count on no romances for me here in Sochi.”

Becky gives him a knowing smirk and tells him, “We’ll see. Sometimes love sneaks up on you when you least expect it. Don’t you agree, Sam?” She turns to Sam and bats here eyelashes in his direction, about as subtle as a freight train. 

The face Sam makes is so hilarious Dean would laugh out loud if they weren’t in front of cameras right now. The poor guy looks incredibly uncomfortable but manages to regain his composure and tell Becky, “No, I don’t think that love is in the cards for either of us right now. We both have some really important hockey games coming up so our concentration will be on our sport. I think we would both agree,” he adds, nodding at Dean, “that our focus right now is solely on Sunday’s game.”

Dean backs up Sam’s statement and quashes any gossip about his personal life that Becky tries to bring up. She gets frustrated as the interview goes on when they continue to steer the conversation back to hockey no matter how many times she tries to bring up their personal lives. Eventually, she tires of getting nowhere and ends the interview with a stiff handshake for Dean and an unexpected and awkward hug for Sam. 

As soon as they leave the building where the interviews are being held, Dean turns to Sam and laughs, “Dude, are you sure romance isn’t in the air? Pretty sure it was love at first sight for Becky.”

Sam groans uncomfortably, “Don’t remind me. First of all, there’s no such thing as love at first sight and second, that was just creepy. Is it me or does she seem like the kidnap-a-guy-and-keep-him-drugged-and-restrained type of girl?”

Dean laughs and claps his brother on the shoulder, “Definitely, man. I think we may want to stay clear of her while we are here. She’s got stalker written all over her.”

The both laugh about the passionate reporter and head back to the village. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean growls at Sam’s laptop. He has been trying to send Cas the video from last night but it keeps getting rejected for being too large of an attachment. Shit! There’s no way to avoid it. He promised the guy he could have a copy of the video which means he is going to have to copy it for him and take it to him. 

Part of him wants nothing more than to see Cas again. He wants to see how he is doing, find out if he can compete, but really, he just enjoys spending time with him. There is another part of Dean, though, that wants to avoid Cas at all costs. That’s the part that is afraid of liking him too much, afraid of the connection that they seem to have, and mostly afraid of how attracted he is to the skater. 

Before he talks himself out of it, he pulls the thumb drive out of the laptop, grabs his coat, and heads towards the door. Luckily, Sam isn’t here to ask him where he is going. He went with Jo to watch some of the events and should be gone for most of the afternoon. 

He arrives at Castiel’s hospital room just in time to catch the man before he is discharged. He looks so much better today, the swelling and bruising on his forehead have gone down and he looks fresh and rested. He is dressed in a crisp white tracksuit accented with bright red patterns that indicate he is wearing the mandatory Russian athletic gear. He has a day of scruff and his dark hair is just sort of shaken so that it falls casually over his forehead, possibly in some futile attempt to hide his stitches. It’s a good look on him, even if he does look a little hippy-ish. 

Castiel slings his bag over his shoulder and turns towards the door stopping in his tracks when he spots Dean.

“Hey, Rocky, how are you feeling today?” Dean grins at the skater.

“Rocky?”

“Yeah, y’know, with the stitches you kind of have that whole bad-ass fighter vibe going on. Maybe you should change your music to Eye of the Tiger and really rock the look.” 

Castiel rolls his eyes, “Had I known a year ago when I choreographed it, that some reckless hockey player would try to kill me a few days before my short program, I might have selected that music.”

Dean feels that familiar pang of guilt and bites his bottom lip. 

“I’m kidding!” Castiel chides, “Actually, my first program is to music from Star Wars so a few stitches work well with the Han Solo motif.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, “Seriously? I thought you guys had to use, like, classical music and sparkly costumes and shit like that.”

Castiel shrugs, “It used to be standard practice, but things have changed. We have actually found that using popular recognizable music increases scores because it engages the audience more. And I despise sequins! I’m already a gay figure skater. Adding glitter is a little clichéd, don’t you think?”

Dean nearly chokes. You’ve got to be kidding! Cas is into guys and a Star Wars fan? Dammit, he needs to stop! Seriously, if this guy says he likes Vonnegut or can identify a ’67 Impala all bets are off and Dean won’t be held responsible for where his hands end up.

Dean blinks at Cas stupidly before he realizes his jaw may or may not be hanging open. He coughs and shakes his head clear of the inappropriate thoughts he was just having of Cas dressed like Han Solo. “So… um… does that mean you can compete?”

Castiel smiles at him, “Probably. I’ve been cleared to get back on the ice. As long as there are no equilibrium problems, I’m skating. I just have to find some ice time.”

“Dude, I feel terrible about what happened. Tell you what, I have ice reserved for two hours tomorrow morning. Sam, Vic and I are good, though. We don’t need that much time. You want an hour of it? It’s even a closed practice time so no reporters watching.”

“Thank you, Dean, I would really appreciate that”

“Are you kidding? I owe you after what happened. Let me make it up to you. Hey, you hungry? I’m buying if you want to get a burger.”

“I would like that.”

The two men find a restaurant right off the main plaza. It is stuffed with tourists and Dean and Castiel end up with a seat by the window where they can watch the hubbub of the busy Olympic village. It serves a variety of international fare in an attempt to cater to the diverse crowd here for the games and the men are pleased to find burgers and fries on the menu.

When their meals arrive they dig into both the food and the conversation. Cas does this sort of shy smile thing when Dean says something that he finds entertaining and Dean finds himself trying to say the anything to see that look on Cas’ face. And Dean also finds that he can’t get enough of Cas’ voice. It’s deep and gravely with that hint of an accent that gives Cas this sort of foreign mysterious air, which is all kinds of hot. 

The men relax into comfortable conversation and Dean is loving every minute of it.

“Seriously, man? You’re studying Anthropology?” Dean asks through a mouthful of ketchup smothered French fries. “I never did have the patience for that book stuff. I’m more of a hands-on guy, y’know, fixing cars, shooting pucks.”

“Anthropology is way beyond book learning. I love the variety of human societies. People are each so unique and every one is like an individual work of art and when you put them together in communities they form these distinctive tapestries of culture. It’s also fun learning about the innovative things we have done to survive and evolve. It’s the little stuff that interests me, like how humans learned about coffee from goats.”

Dean raises his eyebrows, “Really? What, the three billy goats gruff have a little hipster coffee house?” 

Castiel chuckles, “Something like that.”

“Sounds like you and Sam would get along great. He was a bookworm too. Always wanted to go to college but when he was offered an NHL contract right out of high school… well, you know, hockey, the family business, kind of took priority.”

“And how about you?” Castiel takes a drink of his beer and asks Dean, “Did you want to go to school?”

“Hell no! I couldn’t wait to be done with school. I always liked working with my hands better than being in school. Like, I could fix things – I rebuilt my car from the ground up. I always did well in stuff like physics and engineering so I guess I could have majored in that, but my dad made it pretty clear that I was going to be a hockey player. So when I was picked in the draft it worked out well. I was able to make enough to take care of Sam and get him through high school.”

“ _You_ took care of Sam? Where were your parents?”

Dean knows that his face falls. “My mother passed away when I was four and my dad died just before I was picked up in the NHL draft.”

Castiel looks at him with genuine sympathy, “Dean, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

Dean looks away and takes a drink, he hates it when people pity him. He doesn’t want to see that look from Cas. He remembers that terrible time. He had been in his senior year of high school and after his father died, his grades all went to shit and he eventually just gave up and dropped out. He had a complicated relationship with his father. He idolized him and did everything the man said so with him gone, Dean was left faltering for a long time.

“The worst part,” he tells Castiel, “is that he never got to see me play in the pros. All that work and training and he died before he got to see Sammy and me play together.”

“So you took care of Sam after that?”

Dean laughs, a bitter sound, “I was taking care of Sam long before _that_. As soon as I was old enough my dad stopped dragging us around to away games. It was just too expensive and difficult to travel with two kids. So from the time I was about nine or ten, I was left to take care of him most of the regular season. So my childhood was pretty much training on days when my dad was home and taking care of Sam when he wasn’t.”

Castiel does this eye squint and head tilt thing that makes Dean feel like he is kind of looking into his soul. It makes him squirm a bit but at the same time he can’t seem to look away. “That is immense responsibility, Dean. You seem to have done an admirable job.”

Dean shakes his head, “Not always, man. That first year I was in the NHL? I had no father and lots of disposable income for pretty much the first time in my life. I was kind of an asshole. It was like a year of women, parties and bad decisions. Actually, it was Sam who helped me get my act back together. I had gotten into some trouble and I knew that if I lost my contract, he would get taken away from me since he was still under age. There was no way I was letting him go to some foster home.”

Castiel’s face seems to fall. He stops eating and looks down at his food, seemingly far away. Dean wonders what he said wrong. He was having a great conversation with Cas. The guy is really cool and seemed interested in what Dean had to say until he brought up the trouble he had gotten into his rookie year. Maybe Cas had seen some of the bad press from that hell year or knows about his arrest. Shit! Are those bad decisions going to follow him forever?

He decides it’s probably time to cut his losses, pay the bill and get out of here. Someone like Cas is probably disgusted by the idea of hanging out with a brutish hockey player who is nothing but a high school drop out with a criminal record. He hates himself for the disappointed feeling that it settling in his gut. This is why he sticks to one night stands and casual acquaintances.

“You know,” Dean says a bit defensively, “I’m not that person anymore.”

Castiel’s head snaps up and he looks surprised. “Dean, no... sorry. I was just thinking.” He looks around uncomfortably, avoiding looking right at Dean. “You aren’t what I expected.”

Dean huffs and shakes his head, “Sorry to disappoint, man.”

“You misunderstand me, Dean.” This time Castiel does make eye contact. He has Dean locked on his gaze and Dean doesn’t think he could look away if his life depended on it. He raises his eyebrows and his eyes widen a bit and, seriously, they become this impossible shade of blue. “You aren’t what I expected because I had the wrong idea of who you were before we met. You are…” Cas stops for a moment to contemplate, “surprising… in a good way.”

Dean’s stomach does an unexpected flip at the compliment and he isn’t ready to deal with that at all. Time to pull a quick defensive maneuver. “Aw, Cas, you big flirt,” Dean smirks and waggles his eyebrows, leaning back casually in the bench while popping a fry in his mouth. 

The corners of Castiel’s mouth turn up into that almost smile that he does as he gives a minute shake of his head. 

Dean is just relieved to have broken the tension of the moment but is more than a little freaked out at his reaction to Cas. It’s ridiculous! He shouldn’t care what anyone thinks about him and one kind word from a guy sure shouldn’t give him butterflies like a little girl. 

After dinner they exchange information about the next day’s ice time and head back to their individual rooms. Dean unlocks the door to his room and sees Sam sitting on his bed reading a book. When Sam asks where he has been he brushes him off and heads straight to the bathroom, closing the door behind him before leaning back against it with his eyes scrunched shut. 

He’s absolutely got to cool this thing with Cas. Damn, he wasn’t supposed to like the guy so much. He never tells anyone about his crap childhood but tonight he found himself talking to the guy about everything - his dad dying and raising Sam and traveling from town to town. And if it weren’t bad enough that he felt totally comfortable vomiting his deepest fucking feelings all over the skater he really can’t get over how attracted he is to him. 

Castiel’s scruffy face, warm smile with those soft looking lips and most of all those deep eyes come to his mind. Dean rubs a hand through his hair and gets into the shower – a really cold one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a couple of hockey references in this chapter I may need to explain. 
> 
> First, the name of the chapter is the neutral zone - that's the area in the center of the ice between the two blue lines. 
> 
> Also mentioned are the real life players that Dean and Sam were compared to. Hockey is really a family sport. There have been lots of fathers, sons, brothers, and cousins that have played in the NHL together. Even greats like Wayne Gretsky and Mario Lemieux played in the NHL with their (lesser known) brothers. 
> 
> Bobby Hull is one of the greatest hockey players ever and he and his brother Dennis played together for Chicago for eight seasons. The Richard brothers were from Canada and played for the Canadiens, winning five Stanley Cups together and nine more between them in other years! They are pretty much hockey royalty.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


	5. Home Ice Advantage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don’t let it become a distraction." Bobby’s words echo in Dean’s head. Castiel already has him distracted and not for the reason that Bobby thinks.

Dean loves the swishing sound of his skates cutting over the ice surface, the exhilaration he feels when speeding across the ice and the satisfying sight of the puck hitting the top of the net so hard it sends the goalie’s water bottle flying.

“Damnit, Dean!” Their backup goalie grumbles as he chases down his water. Garth isn’t on the ice this morning. He wanted to spend some time reviewing tapes of Slovakia’s top scorer’s play. It’s a necessary step to understanding where they like to aim the puck if he wants to stop their lead goal-scorers tonight.

Dean just smiles and gives Victor and Sam fist bumps. The three have been working together like a well-oiled machine. Victor blends well into the starting line with Sam and Dean. The guy is enthusiastic about working with the Winchester brothers and is one seriously dedicated player. After an hour of practice, all three are feeling optimistic about their first Olympic game. 

Plus Bobby, it turns out, is a terrific coach. He calls the three men to the bench and shows them yet another formation that he has scribbled down on his hand held whiteboard. Dean likes this one. It starts in the neutral zone with a fake out pass to Sam before he starts what looks like a breakaway then does a drop pass to Victor at the last second who sinks it in behind the goalie from the left. 

Bobby has spent the morning going over all of his best formations and strategies with the men and it looks like it is paying off. Vic is about as driven as Dean has ever seen a player and he is able to quickly pick up on Sam and Dean’s pace and fall into their line. 

The three players take the puck out to center ice to practice Bobby’s formation a few times, adjusting their timing as Bobby yells out directions. Victor easily sinks the puck the first two times until the goalie finally figures out the strategy and blocks the four-hole. This is definitely one they are adding to their arsenal. 

All in all it is a great practice and Dean feels ready for tonight’s game. As practice winds down, he skates over to Bobby and sits next to him on the bench to discuss game strategy while the others head back to the locker room. The two put the whiteboard between them and Dean draws out a couple of formation tweeks that he thinks will be beneficial as Bobby looks on and nods his head. 

“So, wha’d’ya think, Coach? I like the idea of Sammy going after the wrap-around goals ‘cause their goalie’s got a weaker stick side.”

“Yep, with that boy’s long reach, he should be able to sneak one in before the goalie can move across the net.”

“Cool, I’ll talk to him about it. Well, I guess we better get out of here so Castiel can have the ice.” 

Dean tenses up just thinking about the figure skater who needs the ice time to see if he even can skate because of the injury that _he_ caused. The two men get up and start walking towards the locker room when Bobby turns to the younger man, “You know, Dean, you can quit beating yourself up about that. Don’t think just ‘cause he straps on figure skates instead of hockey ones he ain’t tough as nails. I’ve seen what skaters can do. Kid’s probably been through as much as half the guys on this team.”

“Aw, coach, I didn’t know you were a figure skating fan.” Dean teases the older man, “You watch while you’re getting your weekly pedicure?”

“Watch it, boy. My wife, Karen, was a figure skater and let me tell you, you think what you do is hard? At least you get to keep your skates on the ice. Figure skaters are strong so I’m sure that boy’s just fine. Don’t worry about it and don’t let it become a distraction.”

“You got it,” Dean promises. “Shit, forgot my gloves. Well, take it easy Coach. I’ll see you this afternoon.” Dean turns around and heads back to the ice to get his gloves off of the bench. 

_Don’t let it become a distraction_. Bobby’s words echo in Dean’s head. Castiel already has him distracted and not for the reason that Bobby thinks. Yeah, sure, he feels guilty about busting the man’s head open, but that he could get over. Men get hurt on the ice nightly in his line of work. Dean’s certainly drawn his share of blood. 

But that isn’t what’s so distracting about Cas. No, it’s the other man’s intense eyes, the way he does that little almost smile thing when Dean says something humorous, his snarky attitude, and that voice that sends shivers down Dean’s spine. Everything about Cas has been surprisingly awesome. He really needs to get his head out of the gutter and into the game.

This manages to be easier said than done when he enters the tunnel to the ice and Castiel is already skating. Dean stops dead in his tracks, backing up slightly hidden in the shadows of the dark hallway. Castiel is wearing the sweater that Dean gave him, and there is no stopping the feeling that overtakes him when he sees that. It’s suddenly like his chest is too small for his lungs. Must just be the cold coming off the ice, he rationalizes.

He watches, silently, as Castiel moves across the ice. The guy is fast, skating backwards coast to coast setting up for a huge jump that starts out with tight, fast rotations until he kicks his leg out and slows himself, landing on one foot and stopping. He leans over, placing his hands on his knees and drops his head and sighs. Dean is pretty sure he isn’t happy with that jump, not that he would know what figure skating jumps should look like. 

After a minute of drifting silently around on the ice, Castiel digs into the ice with his toe pick and starts a slow spin with his arms outstretched. He leans back, bring his arms up and the spin tightens into a beautiful layback. And what happens next makes Dean’s mouth go dry. Castiel reaches behind him, grabs one skate and brings his free leg over his head with both hands into a Biellman spin. Holy shit! No one should be that flexible. 

“Fuck! I’m a creeper,” Dean mumbles to himself deciding he needs to grow a pair and just go out there. He paints on his best bravado and walks out to the bench. He picks up a stick and puck and starts bouncing the puck off the end of the stick absently until Castiel spots him. 

He can feel a grin growing on his face that he doesn’t seem to be able to stop as Cas skates over. “Hey, man, how’s it going?”

“Well, I barely got dizzy doing my spins, which is a really good sign. But I chickened out of my quad. I can’t risk getting vertigo in the middle of a jump. I guess I have to work on that one.” 

Dean notices that Castiel looks really uncomfortable. He can almost feel the tension coming off of him.

“Dude, you look like you’re ready to have a meltdown. Are you OK?”

“Not really,” Castiel grumbles, “I have to skate my short program tomorrow and I don’t even know if I’ll be able to do all of my jumps.”

“I get it, man. I’ve had to play pretty banged up myself. You know what you’ve gotta do? Get your mind off of it for a few. Stop overthinking it so you can just get in the zone.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” Castiel looks at Dean, exasperated.

Dean gives the puck that he had been bouncing on his stick a harder tap, sending it flying over his head and catches it with his free hand, smirking at Castiel. He knows he is showing off a bit but the slightly awed look on Cas’ face is completely worth it. “You need to have a little fun, relax. Here,” he hands Castiel his stick, “c’mon, let’s bat around the biscuit a bit.”

Dean grabs another stick and shoves past Castiel onto the ice, dropping the puck in front of him and skating backwards, while dribbling the puck back and forth in front of him. Castiel shakes his head, but slowly Dean sees that smile start to cross Cas’ face as he follows him out onto the ice. Dean taps the puck gently towards Castiel, who stops it with his stick and experimentally bats it back and forth before sending it back in Dean’s general direction.

“Alright, I’ll defend. You just try to get the puck past me. Hit it anywhere on the back boards and you win.” Dean taps the puck back to Castiel and the game is on. 

“What do I win?”

“I don’t know, man. Bragging rights,” Dean says as he whips by Castiel, deftly stealing the puck from the man and maneuvering it in front of himself.

Of course the game is ridiculously one-sided. No matter where Castiel tries to aim the puck, Dean is there to stop it. Dean knows he is toying with Cas but the look of pure concentration on his face is worth it. Castiel’s stick-handling actually isn’t all that awful, but it’s no match for Dean. Finally, he starts to laugh until Castiel skates straight for him before slamming on the breaks and spraying him with ice, stopping directly in front of him. 

Surprised, Dean stammers, “S-shit, Cas, personal space!”

Castiel just smiles at him in a way that really has Dean worried. “OK, Winchester, your turn. I played your game, now let’s see you play mine. You’re going to do a jump.”

“Oh no! These skates aren’t leaving the ground.” 

Castiel takes off backwards and casually knocks out a triple loop before skating around Dean and grabbing his stick before the hockey player can even blink. Castiel deposits the sticks back at the bench and tells Dean, “Come on, I’ll help you. Just one rotation.”

Castiel skates back towards Dean and zips past him so close he can feel the wind on his face and when he looks at the figure skater, he is turning around, giving Dean a cocky smirk. The bastard’s obviously getting back at Dean for showing off and doing a little posturing of his own. Not to be defeated by this guy, Dean pushes off and skates across the ice, gaining speed until he jumps, two footed like he is hopping over a hurtle. It’s a move he has used many times to jump over a felled player rather than tripping over them. 

“There, I jumped. Happy?”

“Nope, doesn’t count,” says Castiel as he continues to drift around Dean, casually doing little skating tricks. “IOC rules says a jump has to rotate and be landed on one skate.” He proves his point by kicking off the ice from practically a standstill and still landing a perfect double loop. 

“OK, Cas, you win. That’s never going to happen.”

“You’re giving up already? If I can play hockey, you can do this.” Castiel skates right up to Dean, stopping directly in front of him and grabs his forearms. “Here, this is how we start teaching kids. Grab my arms.”

Dean’s breath catches for a minute because, what is going on? Cas is a breath away from him and looking at him with such encouragement in those deep blue eyes! How the hell did he end up in this position? Hadn’t he sworn to himself he wasn’t going to ever even see Cas again and now he’s practically holding hands with the guy! He almost pulls back but the hopeful smile on the other man’s face stops him. “Fine!” he grumbles with an eyeroll.

Castiel guides him around in a small circle and tells him when to jump. His first attempt is a failure when he lands on the wrong foot and nearly pulls both of the men down onto the ice. The two have a good laugh at the awkward attempt until Castiel encourages him to try again. He is again led in a circle by Castiel and when the skater tells him to he jumps with one foot while Castiel turns him so he can land on the other. 

“Ha! Nailed it!” Dean exclaims as the two stop skating. 

“I guess you win,” says Castiel as he catches Dean’s eyes with his own. And for some reason, Dean doesn’t seem to be able to look away. 

“Am I interrupting something?”

Dean jerks his hands away from Castiel and turns towards the voice of a smarmy Brit who is standing at the edge of the ice with his arms crossed and eyebrows raised at the pair on the ice. The guy looks familiar, he is pretty sure he saw him at the hospital the morning Cas got hurt. The blonde man is tall and thin, wearing skinny, artfully torn jeans, a tight t-shirt with a ridiculously low V neck, and a thin scarf draped around his neck. Dean doesn’t even know him but has the urge to punch the shit-eating grin of this giant douchebag’s face. 

“Balthazar,” Castiel says and Dean catches that little waver in his voice before he coughs and adds, “I don’t believe you’ve met Dean. Dean, this is my coach, Balthazar.”

“Charmed,” Balthazar drawls and looks as though the word tastes sour coming out of his mouth.

Dean gives the man a nod and turns back to Castiel, addressing him after a thick uncomfortable swallow, “Well, I better let you get back to practice. So… uh… good luck with those jumps.” 

He turns to head off the ice before he hears Castiel’s voice, “Wait, Dean. I… thank you. I was really having trouble this morning because I couldn’t get out of my own head. But you were right. I was able to complete my jumps because I wasn’t over thinking them. I just had to stop worrying about the vertigo and remember to have fun. I guess sometimes I need reminded to enjoy skating.”

“No problem, buddy. Now go,” Dean jerks his head towards Balthazar, “before your coach kicks both our asses for wasting your ice time.”

Castiel nods and turns to skate towards his coach and Dean beats it off the ice as quickly as he can (and still look casual). He grabs his gloves and helmet off the bench and heads back down the tunnel towards the locker room, thinking about Castiel the whole time. “Fuck,” he mumbles to himself. He’s got to get the handsome skater out of his head. In a few hours, he plays his first Olympic game and Bobby is right. The last thing he needs is to be distracted.

Castiel sits on the edge of his bed listening to his short program music going over every move in his head. Practice had gone well this morning after a bit of a rough start. The first few jumps he had tried to do were complete fails, with him backing out of the full rotation mid-spin. But after spending some time skating with Dean, the jumps had just come together so naturally. He had nailed his two most difficult jumps, overcoming that familiar sense of dread over the dizziness he had been experiencing.

He is interrupted mid-thought by a knock at his door. Removing his ear-buds he gets up and opens the door to a pretty red-head with dark eyes and a wide smile. His heart leaps at the sight of his big sister.

“Anna!” He greets her with a huge smile and she practically leaps forward to hug him. “How did you get in here? I thought only athletes and coaches were allowed?”

As if on cue, Balthazar appears around the edge of the doorframe. “I found her and snuck her in. I thought you could use a visit with family.” 

“Thank you, Balthazar.”

His coach was right, just seeing Anna is a relief to his nerves. He has always been close with his sister. When his father moved him to the US to train, Anna had come too. The siblings were the new children in a strange country where they barely spoke the language. Friendships didn’t come easily, especially for the quiet, dark-haired pre-teen with a funny accent who spent all of his spare time ice skating. Castiel and Anna had clung to each other in those early days in America and their relationship had stayed close over the years. 

Lately, however, they had seen less and less of each other. Anna, older by two years, had moved three states over when she started college and the two have had to keep in touch through Skype and visits whenever their schedules matched up. But seeing her now, here in Russia to cheer him on at his biggest competition ever means the world. 

He invites his sister and coach into his room and the siblings chatter away, catching up on each other’s lives, while Balthazar perches on top of Castiel’s dresser, looking bored with the entire conversation. Castiel tells her about his injury, careful to stay away from names, simply stating that he was on the ice at the same time as the US hockey players and got hit by an errant puck. He explains that he should still be able to compete because most of the dizziness he was feeling initially is now gone. Anna looks concerned but Castiel quickly shifts the conversation to Anna’s life to avoid getting into any more details than necessary. 

When the conversation turns to Anna’s recently acquired job in marketing, Balthazar officially loses patience and interrupts, “Anna, did you know our little Cassie here has a crush?”

“Balthazar, don’t!” Castiel practically growls at his coach.

But it’s too late. There is no way Anna isn’t picking up on this one. Her wide eyes fix on Castiel, “Is that so? Tell me all about him!”

“No, it’s nothing. It’s not a crush. He was only being nice to me because he felt guilty about hitting me with a puck. It’s not a big deal.”

“Wait, do you like this man?” Anna asks earnestly.

“It doesn’t matter. He’s straight so there could never be anything between us.”

“Cassie, you forget, I was there this morning. There was nothing straight about the way he was looking at you. It was all rather disgusting, actually. I’m surprised you two weren’t melting the ice with all of your smoldering stares. Deny it if you like, darling, but Dean couldn’t keep his eyes off your baby blues.”

Anna’s eyebrows raise as her jaw drops open. “Dean?!”

Castiel fidgets awkwardly and can’t meet his sister’s gaze.

Anna turns to Balthazar, “Wait! You’ve got to be kidding?! _The_ Dean? Dean _Winchester_?”

Balthazar grins, “Oh yes, darling. Our own hunky hockey god.”

“It’s nothing, Anna,” Castiel looks at his sister with pleading eyes. 

“Dean Winchester is the one who did this to you?! I might have known. What a careless-”

“Anna, it’s not like that,” Castiel interrupts and points to his forehead, “This was an accident and…” his voice falters as he tries to figure out what else to say about Dean. 

Balthazar jumps down from the dresser where he had been sitting and looks back and forth between Anna and Castiel. “Wait, what am I missing here? Anna, you know Dean?”

Anna rolls her eyes at Balthazar, “Know him? Something like that.”

Balthazar looks from Anna’s incredulous face to Castiel’s crestfallen one and it immediately dawns on him. “Oh my God, you’ve slept with him?!”

Castiel groans as Anna’s jaw drops. “Balthazar, can you excuse us? I believe I need to talk with Anna alone.”

“Oh no! This is too good. What, does taste in men run in the family?”

“Balthazar!” Castiel and Anna both growl at once.

Balthazar puts up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. I can see when I’m not wanted. I can’t believe you are going to gossip about gorgeous men without me! Castiel, I’ll be back in the morning. We need to talk strategy about your triple combination.” And with that he leaves the siblings in awkward silence.

“Anna…”

“No. Stop, Castiel.” She takes his hand and leads him to the bed to sit next to her. After taking a deep breath she starts, “OK, now tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing, Anna. You know Balthazar. He just loves juicy gossip, especially if he starts it himself.”

“So what he said about Dean isn’t true?”

“Of course it isn’t! He and I are… we just met! He has been very kind to me after what happened, but I’m sure it’s just because he feels guilty. And this morning we were skating together when Balthazar showed up. He’s imagining the stuff about the way Dean was looking at me. You of all people know he’s straight.”

“And what about you? How do you feel about him?”

“I… I don’t know. He’s… not the way you described him.”

“Castiel, it was years ago. When I met Dean, I was star stuck by this hot young athlete that I had a crush on. He was charming and we were both a little drunk. I was a stupid young girl who thought she was in love but the truth is, it was a one night stand for him. Yes, I was devastated when he didn’t call and I know I cried on your shoulder about it. Honestly though, we were both nineteen year old kids so the man I described to you was probably demonized by a stupid broken-hearted teenager. But, really, I barely even knew him. And I certainly don’t know what he’s like now. I imagine he has done some growing up in the past five years. I know I certainly have.”

“I, I always thought that you had something more with him.”

“I’m sure I made it sound that way. Wishful thinking,” Anna huffs a little laugh at her own youthful foolishness. She reaches over and takes both of Castiel’s hands in her own. “So tell me, little brother, how do you really feel?”

“Oh, Anna, I just don’t know. I like him,” Castiel sighs and shuts his eyes, “I really like him. He’s actually sweet and funny and he’s ridiculously hot. He even helped me relax and be able to do my jumps this morning.” Castiel flings himself back on the bed in frustration and puts his arm over his face. “Why do I always fall for men who are terrible for me? If they aren’t trouble, they are the unattainable.”

Anna flops down beside Castiel, shoulders touching, as they both stare up at the ceiling. “You don’t know if Dean is either.”

Castiel rolls to his side to face Anna, resting his head on his arm. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I do know, unless you are hiding something under your skirt that we need to talk about.” 

Anna laughs and rolls onto her side, mimicking Castiel so that the siblings are now facing one another. “Just because he’s been with girls doesn’t mean he doesn’t like men too. Just look at Balthazar.”

“Ugh! Don’t remind me. Do you know the other day he told me he had a ménage a… whatever the French word is for twelve?”

“Uh… pretty sure that’s just an orgy.”

“I try not to even _think_ about what he does in his spare time.”

“Ah, the rock star life of a former figure skating star. Promise me you won’t follow in his footsteps after you win the gold, Castiel.”

“Do I even need to? You know that’s not me.”

“I know, just be careful, OK? Don’t fall for someone who isn’t going to be gentle with your heart.” Anna reaches up and moves Castiel’s bangs off of his forehead to expose the stitches there, a gentle, loving touch. “He’s already banged up your head.”

Castiel smiles at his sister’s teasing, “Why am I so terrible at this?”

“Probably because you’ve barely left the ice since you were six. It doesn’t leave much time for a social life.”

“Maybe I should just keep it that way. Concentrate on my skating and forget I ever met Dean Winchester.”

“Good luck with that. That man seems to have a way of burrowing into people’s hearts.”

Castiel sighs, knowing his sister is right. Dean does have a way of breaking down his walls and charming his way in. He had sat in the pub that first night here in Sochi seething at the obnoxious hockey player and his rowdy friends. He had been sure that he knew everything he needed to know about the man. Sure that he was the shallow, careless, womanizer his sister had cried to him about years before. Sure that he wanted nothing to do with Dean Winchester.

Now, only a few days later, his heart flutters whenever he is around the man with the hunter green eyes. Dean has him utterly captivated and he knows it’s a dangerous place to be.

This is what makes Dean feel alive. He is covered in sweat, he’s breathing heavily, and his legs are burning but he hears the horn signaling the end of the game and vaults over the boards onto the ice. A five to one win! He drifts around the ice, hugging his teammates, tapping helmets together and commending them on their performances.

It was a great team effort. He scored twice, Sam once, and the other three goals were scored by other lines and one defenseman. It really demonstrates the depth of their talent pool. Sam’s goal was scored exactly how he had strategized with Bobby, by taking advantage of his long reach in a wrap-around goal to the goalie’s weak stick side. 

The crowd is on their feet frantically cheering, “USA, USA,” as American flags are waving all around the arena and Dean is feeling euphoric after the solid win. 

He makes his way to Benny and hugs the defenseman who grabs the back of his neck, and taps the front of their helmets together as he tells Dean how great it is to play together again and calls him brother. It does feel good to have the talented man playing alongside him again and he feels a knot in his throat for a second during the emotional moment that he quickly suppresses to move on to the rest of the team. 

Most of the players get affectionate taps on the back or smiles and fist bumps accompanied by congratulations from Dean but when he tells Garth what a fantastic job he did in front of the net, the enthusiastic goalie pulls him in for a warm bear hug. Dean laughs and shakes his head, returning the hug with a friendly tap on the back. 

And finally there’s Sam. He spots the giant man over the heads of a few other players. He already has his helmet off and is grinning ear to ear as he celebrates with their teammates. Dean takes off his own helmet, skates straight up to him, and embraces him whispering, “You were awesome out there tonight. Wish Dad could have seen it.”

“Yeah, me too. I’m just glad we did it together.”

Damn it! Dean’s going to have to go shopping for tampons if he gets any more emotional tonight. What a girl he is turning out to be. He quickly backs away from the hug and skates in a small circle around the middle of the ice, looking up at the audience, stick raised in thanks for their support. The crowd goes wild as his other teammates join in the salute to the fans.

Long after he leaves the arena he is still on cloud nine. Sure, he wins games like this every week but this was his first win on his way to Olympic gold. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe he’s still high off the euphoric win, but he finds himself standing in front of Castiel’s door. It’s a foolish thing to do but something in him just wanted to share this moment with his new friend.

Castiel answers the door and Dean’s already excited heart skips a beat. Damn, he’d just seen the guy a few hours ago but somehow every time those eyes meet his he is still surprised at the effect they have on him.

Dean gathers his thoughts together and a smile, charming and heartfelt, paints across his face, “Congratulate me, man. Just won my first Olympic game.”

“Dean, that’s wonderful!” Castiel says in that sexy voice that has a ridiculous effect on Dean.

He puts his hand against the doorframe and leans closer to Castiel. “Cas, I…”

Dean is interrupted by a woman’s voice, “Castiel, who is it?”

He immediately backs up, looking over Castiel’s shoulder to see a pretty red-head standing there looking at him with wide surprised eyes. Something about her strikes him as vaguely familiar but he can’t place it. 

“It’s Dean Winchester,” Castiel answers.

Dean shakes off the feeling of deja vu that he gets looking at the woman and looks back at Castiel. “Well, I, uh, better get going and leave you to… yeah… well… um… good luck tomorrow.”

He turns before Castiel can even finish saying thank you and heads back down the hall. God, he’s an idiot. What was he even thinking showing up at Cas’ room? Fuck! He was going to kiss him. He actually leaned in and was going to kiss Castiel! What the hell had come over him? He can only rationalize it as the high he must still be on from the game. 

He heads back to his room and drops straight into his bed, face first, ignoring Sam’s question of where he disappeared to after the game. He is afraid that if he even looks at his brother his traitorous face might let on some of the conflict that he is feeling inside. He just needs to sleep it off. Things will surely go back to normal tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it’s been a rough couple of days for me and hockey. I watched both the US men and women lose to team Canada in the Olympics and I attended an AHL game Friday night and watched my team lose in a shootout. Ugh! Oh well, at least I can make my dream team of Sam, Dean, Benny and Garth win.
> 
> A couple of hockey terms in this chapter:
> 
> \- A _drop pass_ is when a player passes to a teammate who is actually behind them.  
>  \- The play the guys were practicing referred to the goalie’s _four-hole_. A hockey net has five basic places to score – each corner labeled one through four and if a player scores between the goalie’s legs it is the five-hole. The four-hole is on the outside of the goalie's right leg.  
>  \- Dean has great _stick-handling_ skills that he uses to bounce the puck off of his stick. It’s an amazing skill to watch. [ Here is a YouTube video ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=urTbHV6LyKU) that shows some examples of the amazing stuff talented hockey players can do with their stick-handling skills.
> 
> Sadly, tonight may be the end of the real Olympics but there is a lot more drama coming up in this story. Thanks again for reading and, as always, your feedback is certainly appreciated.


	6. Fake Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short man dressed in all black barges into the room. It’s Fergus Crowley, the Winchester’s agent.
> 
> “Crowley, what are you doing here?” Dean asks.
> 
> “Saving your hide. Now you've got five minutes to be ready to face reporters.”

Things do look better in the morning. Dean's mind has settled down after his stupid move of showing up unannounced at Castiel's door last night. The adrenaline from the game has worn off and today Dean has nothing scheduled. No game, no practice, and no press. The only thing he has on his agenda for the day is to go to the gym later to stay limbered up until their next contest.

"So what'd'ya say, Sammy? Workout, lunch, then we can catch some events this afternoon? Lemme see what's on the schedule," he says as he pulls up an app on his phone that tells him what Olympic events are scheduled each day and where.

"Sure, man, I could use the distraction," Sam mopes and sits on the edge of his bed across from Dean.

"Dude, what's wrong with you today? You just won your first Olympic game last night and today you're acting like someone stole your puppy."

Sam runs a hand through his hair, shifting uncomfortably, "It's Ruby."

"Ruby? That girl from the other night?"

"Yeah. I, uh, went to see her last night. Didn't turn out so well."

Dean is skeptical, he remembers that Jo told him Ruby was trouble but his kid brother looks like he was just rejected by his crush so he decides to go easy on him. Cautiously, he asks, "OK, so?"

"So get this. I go to the bar to meet up with her and there she is, making out with someone else."

"Aw, man, sorry Sam."

"It gets better, the someone else… a blonde _girl_ named Lilith!"

Dean can't help the stupid smirk that comes over his face, "Sounds kind of hot!"

Sam just huffs and rolls his eyes. Dean knows Sam gets all squirmy and uncomfortable when he jokes about sex. He laughs at his prude of a little brother. The guy gets his share of action but he definitely doesn't share Dean's affinity for lewd jokes and innuendo.

"Whatever, Dean. I just didn't think she was like that."

"Like _that_?"

"You know… _gay_ ," Sam says in scandalized whisper like someone might hear him.

The sentence hits Dean like a ton of bricks. He's spent the last several days having some pretty gay thoughts about Castiel and just when he thought maybe, just maybe, he could act on them he is reminded that his brother has no idea he is occasionally into guys.

Sam, the brother who was raised by their uber-masculine father around the very straight world of professional sports. He is the little brother who has always looked up to Dean as the example of how to be a man, the kid brother whom he had taught everything from how to shave and how to talk to girls. Dean had even been the one to give Sam _the talk_. And now Sam is the brother who is standing in front of him whispering the word gay as if it's a contagious disease.

What would his brother think if he knew how Dean felt? Would he see Dean any differently, any less? Would he still look up to him? Would he stand by him if he ever came out and the shit hit the fan about him being the first openly bisexual player in the NHL?

The questions bombard his thought process and cause a growing sense of panic in his chest. No, he decides, he isn't going to let his brother know. He'll just have to ignore this thing with Cas and go back to girls. He likes girls just fine so what's the big deal about denying his feelings about this _one_ guy?

Just as his brain filters through his list of jokes he can throw out to divert attention away from the awkward moment, there is a knock on the door. A short man dressed in all black barges into the room. It's Fergus Crowley, the Winchester's agent. The guy is slippery as a greased pig and has a completely obnoxious superiority complex. Dean cringes because he can barely stand the guy. But he is the best contract negotiator in the business so Dean bites his tongue and deals with the jackass.

"Hello, boys," he greets them in his slick British accent.

"Crowley, what are you doing here?" Dean asks.

"Saving your hide. Now you've got five minutes to be ready to face reporters."

"What's going on? What do we need saving from?" Sam asks.

"You, Moose? Nothing. The squirrel in heat over there," Crowley gestures towards Dean, "well, he and his little figure skating boy toy have garnered the attention of one nosey Lois Lane."

"W-what? What are you even talking about?!" Dean manages to sound completely affronted while avoiding the inquisitive gaze of his brother.

"Don't play coy with me, lover boy. You know I don't care who you choose to get… biblical with. But your lack of discretion and choice of timing is impeccable as always. Did you really think no one was going to notice you eye-fucking a sexy Russian skater?"

"I didn't-"

"Dean, my sources tell me one Becky Rosen has pictures of your little date night and holding hands on the ice yesterday?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?! That was a closed practice and we weren't holding hands! There's nothing going on!" Dean snaps.

Crowley rolls his eyes, "Dear God, how are you managing to walk upright? Do you honestly think the _truth_ matters? This is the media! All these sharks need is one drop of blood to start the feeding frenzy. And you, my reckless friend, have given them all the ammunition they need. Now, the clock is ticking and you need to get down to the press area so that I can work my magic and fix this."

"But how-"

"Trust me," Crowley condescends and Dean is pretty sure that those are the two most ridiculous words that have ever come out of this guy's mouth. "You pay me handsomely to keep your screw ups out of the tabloids. Remember, I'm the puppet master here. I just need you to shut up and smile like a good little dummy."

Dean growls, "Should just bend over while I'm at it?!"

Crowley smiles at him, "Save that for your steamy skater."

"Fuck you, Crowley!"

"You can save _that_ for him too, just be a little more discreet." Crowley turns on his heel and exits the room.

Dean is left staring at the closed door, afraid to turn around and look at his brother. Without making eye contact he asks, "Remind me again why we still deal with that epic douchebag?"

"Just count the zeros on your last contract," Sam laughs uncomfortably.

"Yeah, well, still makes me feel like I made a deal with the devil." Dean finally turns around to face his brother who looks stunned at the whole interaction.

"Dean, what's going on?"

"I… nothing, man… I don't know. Just… don't worry about it. You know, just stupid tabloid stuff. I'll take care of it. I gotta go."

Dean escapes the room before he has to answer another question from his little brother. His brain works on overtime wondering what he is going to say to the press, what Crowley has planned to fix this. Shit! He hasn't even done anything with Cas and now he has to stand in front of a bunch of asshole reporters and defend himself? He gears up for accusing questions about his sexuality from perfect strangers – questions that he himself hasn't really even come to terms with yet.

But when he steps into the press room what greets him isn't a bunch of scandalized bloodhounds, but instead a group of encouraging faces and flashing cameras. Suddenly, soft lips are on his and arms thrown around his neck.

Bela makes the kiss quick before standing on her tip toes to hug Dean and whisper in his ear, "Just go with it, Dean."

She releases the still stunned hockey player and turns towards the crowd, grabbing Dean's hand and smiling brightly. She leans into him and poses as the cameras click away, places her hand on Dean's chest and nudges him until he wraps his arm hesitantly around her waist. Dean's brain finally catches up to the action happening around him and he pastes on a fake smile for the press as well, letting Bela take the lead in this charade.

Dean catches sight of Crowley standing off to the side of the crowd looking exceptionally pleased with himself. He has obviously set this farce up to divert the presses attention away from Becky's story, get news about Dean and Bela out there preemptively so that Becky's story would look ridiculous and unfounded in comparison. It's a good strategy but one that makes Dean a little sick to his stomach.

This whole mess has gotten completely out of control. He is here to play hockey, not play the freaking Dating Game!

Dean hears the members of the pressing yelling out his name and Bela's along with questions that all seem to all get muffled together. Again, Bela takes the lead and puts her hand up to quiet down the crowd.

"Dean and I would like to thank you all for your interest. We never expected to come here to these Olympic games and find love but life is funny that way. Sometimes, you just meet the right person in the most unexpected of situations, isn't that right, darling?" Bela coos and looks up at Dean.

"Uh… yeah," Dean manages while thinking that, yes, the right person may come along as a surprising twist in life but he sure as hell isn't standing next to his 'right person.' He can do this, though. He can fake his way thought this dumb dog and pony show and get the stupid reporters off of the trail of him and Castiel.

"Mr. Winchester," one female reporter shouts above the others, "you won your first Olympic game last night. How did you celebrate?"

"Uh, after the game, all I could think about was celebrating with someone I really care about-"

"So we spent a perfect evening together," Bela finishes for him. There are a few awwws coming from the audience.

Another reporter chimes in, "So it looks like Bela and Dean may be the story of the 2014 Olympics. How do you feel about being Sochi's power couple?"

"It feels wonderful to have found a kindred spirit here. We'll wait to call us a power couple until after we see how the rest of Dean's games go and how I finish at tomorrow's 15k biathlon."

Dean groans inwardly at terms like power couple and kindred spirit. This whole façade makes him feel dirty and used, a prop to stand next to Bela and garner her attention to increase her brand. He swallows down the disgust that tastes like bile and deceit as Bela continues to answer questions for the both of them. Finally, he leans over and whispers in her ear that he has had enough. She seems to understand that he is completely out of patience with her little game and tells the reporters that they really must be going before taking his hand and leading him towards the exit.

Crowley follows the two athletes and the moment the door closes behind them Dean jerks his hand out of Bela's grasp and turns on the two co-conspirators.

"What the hell was that?!"

"That," Crowley begins, "was me pulling a Billy Flynn on the press corps, a diversion that worked perfectly, I might add." He then turns to Bela and adds, "By the way, lovely work, my dear."

"Well, next time you can razzle-fucking-dazzle with someone else. This is such bullshit!"

"Look at that, Rocky has some smarts too. And I always thought Bullwinkle was the brains of the operation. That, squirrel, is the smartest thing you've said all day. Of course it's was all bullshit, but they bought it, hook, line and sinker so we'll count it as a win. Bela here gets free press which will certainly benefit her clothing line. You now don't have to explain your extracurricular activities with Russia's ice _queen_."

Dean clenches his fist, ready to punch the derogatory nickname from Crowley's smart mouth before Bela saves his agent.

She reaches up and cups Dean's cheek, giving him a smug but beautiful smile, "Happy to help, Dean. Well, actually, happy to use your fame to increase my own, but… you know… whatever."

"Now, you'll need to keep up this pretense. I'll arrange a few public appearances. All you have to do is play the part of the doting boyfriend. And, uh, Dean, no funny business with Castiel."

Dean opens his mouth to protest but decides it's better to just leave this one alone. Crowley has, after all, figured out a way to keep a story about him and Castiel out of the news, or at least buried under all of these stories about his fictional relationship with Bela.

He, Bela, and Crowley go their separate ways but on the way back to his room he can't escape the guilty weight that the deception has placed on his shoulders. This shouldn't be a big deal. After all, it isn't like it's the even the first time he has lied to the press. After his arrest, Crowley had helped to bury that story too, twist it into something more acceptable than it actually was. He hadn't felt remorse about going along with Crowley's version of that incident so what's bothering him so much about lying now?

The answer that keeps niggling in the back of his mind has deep blue eyes and dark messy hair and a voice that tucks its way under his skin, vibrates in his bones. But no, why should he feel like this game with Bela has anything to do with Cas? He just met the guy and it's not like there's anything going on between them. Except that maybe there is…

There's something about Castiel that he can't shake. Castiel is like the answer to his deepest questions and at the same time an enigma of endless mystery himself. He barely knows anything about Cas but something deep inside of him, some root desire, wants… _needs_ to know more about him. It's the magnet that keeps drawing him to the skater no matter how much he tries to stay away. It's the lure to the warmth that surrounds him when they lock eyes. It feels like the panic of drowning and the comfort of home at the same time.

He can't shake the guilt because of Castiel. He knows now that he doesn't want Castiel to think that he is with Bela because that would mean that he wouldn't want him. It's selfish and petty to wish to be wanted by the handsome skater because he can't give him anything back. Right now all he has to offer is a seedy, hidden affair, darkened rooms and whispers and secret looks across crowded rooms. Rushed and wanton and walks of shame. Sneaking and hiding and lying. He isn't ready, may never be ready, to give Castiel anything more than that and he hates himself for how greedy that makes him feel.

He decides it's best to not put Castiel through that. He'll play Crowley's game and, who knows, maybe if he ignores his attraction to Cas he can just be friends with him because, even though he knows he has nothing to offer romantically, he just can't bring himself to cut off their friendship completely. It's crazy that someone he has only known a few days has burrowed so deep under his skin. No, he decides, there's no way he's giving up being friends with Cas. He'll just have to keep it platonic.

When he arrives back at his room Benny is there and Sam looks panicked. Shit! He forgot Benny was coming over to go to workout with them. Sam is feverishly tapping away on his laptop while Benny looks at Dean cautiously.

Sam looks up from his screen, "Dean, what's going on? You were gone for like an hour and now you're all over the news. I've gotten a dozen messages from people asking me to comment on my brother's love life. Why didn't you tell me about you and Bela?"

"'Cause there's nothing to tell, Sam. It's a publicity stunt. Crowley put the whole thing together. After that picture from the pub surfaced, it gave him ammunition to put together a story about me and Bela."

"But, wait, why?"

"I don't know, Sam. Y'know, same old crap, no such thing as bad press? Endorsements? Just, publicity, I guess." Dean drags a hand down his face, the stress of the morning starting to tire him out. He needs to get to the gym, go punch something.

Sam eyes him for a moment before he puts his laptop aside and stands up to face Dean. Dean can see the questions coming, practically hear the cogs of the brianiac's mind figuring everything out. "No. There's something else going on. What was Crowley taking about this morning? Saving you? Castiel? What's going on, Dean?"

Dean laughs, "You know how these tabloids will make up a story out of nothing. I guess they had some pictures of me and Cas and decided two plus two equals gay love."

"Pictures?"

"Yeah, I bought the guy a burger. It was the least I could do after I nearly killed him. And then, yesterday, I showed him how to play hockey a bit. I didn't know there were reporters around."

"That's ridiculous! You, gay?! Everyone knows how much you like girls. Who would even believe a story like that? Why would Crowley even bother to acknowledge it?"

Dean looks nervously at Benny, who is leaning back against the wall with his arms and legs crossed. The bastard just raises an eyebrow at Dean, knowingly. And Dean is officially done. He is too exhausted to keep lying and dancing around this.

He sighs and looks away from his brother, "Thing is…" The words get lost on his tongue.

"What?" Sam laughs, "You turning gay?"

The silence in the room is deafening as the smile on Sam's face fades when Dean doesn't respond.

"Thing is, Sam, I may have always swung that way… a little."

Sam looks back and forth between his brother and Benny, dumbstruck, until he finally puts the puzzle together in his head. He looks at Benny, "You knew about this?" Benny gives him a nonchalant shrug he addresses Dean next, "And _Crowley_ too?"

"Yeah."

"And you didn't trust me enough to tell me?"

Dean opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Sam picks up his gym back and heads towards the door. He stops with his hand on the doorknob but doesn't turn around.

"I just, I just need some time, Dean. This is a lot to deal with." And with that he leaves. The sound of the door clicking closed is enough to send a shiver up Dean's spine.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean yells and knocks over a bedside lamp.

Benny takes a tentative step closer and puts out a hand, "Hey, man, take it easy. You don' wanna hurt yourself before the next game."

"I don't fucking care!" Dean spits.

"Yes, you do. And when you calm down you'll be glad I talked some sense into you."

"Why the hell did I even tell him?"

"'Cause he's your brother and he deserves to know. 'Cause you've been carryin' around the weight of this too long. And maybe, 'cause you like this Castiel enough to finally let yourself be happy."

Dean looks at his friend, the only person he ever willingly told about his bisexuality. "I can't, Benny. Can you imagine how they'd come after me if I came out with this? It would be a constant battle. Every fucking interview would be about this shit. Me and Cas would be like a magnet for these monsters. And Sam? Sam would be collateral damage too."

"I know what you're willing to do for that kid, but Sam's a grown man, now. A _very_ grown man. You don't need to keep sacrificing for him. And I know I like to mess with him, but truthfully, he's smart and he loves you and he'll come around. I know you're willing to do just about anything for your little brother. Question is, what are you willing to do for yourself? Or Castiel?"

"Benny, I do not need this shit. Now the press suspects I'm into men."

"Well then, the press would be right for a change, wouldn't they?"

"Screw you, Benny."

Benny just laughs, "No thanks, brother. You know a little man-love's your cup of tea, not mine. And I think Andrea might slay us both."

That at least makes Dean laugh. Benny has jokingly told Dean about the short leash that his wife, Andrea keeps him on. Thing is, though, Benny is so crazy in love with her, it doesn't even matter. Benny had told him once that everything he had done in the past seemed to vanish because he had Andrea and he had stayed clean not only for himself but for her and what they had together. Dean envies what Benny and Andrea have, wonders if he could ever have anything like that himself.

"I wasn't offering, you ass," Dean laughs. "Now, get out of here, I need to go find Sammy."

"Naw, man, you stay here, avoid the press for a while. I'll find 'im."

Dean reluctantly but gratefully agrees to let Benny talk to Sam, a lot of good that will do. Sam doesn't like Benny or understand why Dean does. To Sam, he is just the guy that got into trouble with Dean years ago. Sam doesn't know that he's also the one that saved Dean's ass.

Life views are hard to change. It's not easy when something that's simply been a constant suddenly changes. Some things just are: the earth is round, the pythagorean theorem always works, the solid strength of his brother's hugs always comfort. Other things need to be sorted into the doesn't-always-work-the-way-it-should category like when you hit the puck against the boards at a 30 degree angle, it should bounce off at the same angle. Sam knows it doesn't always work that way. The ice may be bumpy or the team mate who was supposed to be on the receiving end of that 30 degree angled pass wasn't where there or worse, the angle worked perfectly and an opposing team mate would intercept.

Sam likes his world that way. Sorted neatly between the facts and the variables. Sam is smart, a great mind, actually. He absolutely shined in math class and history. Those were facts, things that are and things that definitely happened. It's why he is interested in the law. Right and wrong. Laws are like math – they are a set of rules that the world is supposed to work by. What he never liked much was English and Art. There is no formula for why some people love Jackson Pollock and others are drawn to Michelangelo. There isn't a rule to explain why Macbeth was such a douchebag.

But even that, Sam is able to sort neatly between facts and variables.

So when a basic fact of his existence – Dean likes girls – is suddenly put into the variable category, Sam is… uncomfortable.

It isn't like he's homophobic, really. He never participated when those assholes at school would bully that kid, Anton. But he never made any effort to befriend the boy either. They didn't really have anything in common, though. Sam was into hockey, spent most of his time working out. Anton was a theater geek. It was easy to not cross the clique lines.

He had grown up surrounded by hockey players, big, strong, tough men who shook off a broken bone as easily as most people do a papercut. They played and lived hard and it was just assumed that they were all straight. They certainly bragged about their female conquests enough. Dean himself had always adamantly avoided what he called chick-flick moments. So Sam had never really been around anyone that he knew was gay.

And Sam was definitely on the side of equal rights when it came to sexual orientation. He firmly believed that they should be able to serve in the military and marry and be treated with dignity like everyone else. After all, this conformed with his love of the law, to treat everyone by the same concrete set of laws. But now _they_ is not an abstract concept of some population of people. His brother is one of the _they_ and his head is having trouble wrapping around that fact.

Does this change anything, really? Does he have to act differently around his brother now? Oh, God, what if he had said something offensive in the past? Had he ever laughed at the gay jokes thrown carelessly around the team? Had he ever thoughtlessly called something gay around his brother? Had he hurt the brother he loved inadvertently?

And like that, Sam realizes that this revelation doesn't change Dean any more than if Dean had suddenly announced that he liked cake as much as pie (fat chance!). Dean is still the big brother who always gave Sam the toy from the cereal box. He is the brother who stayed at home every Friday night when all of his friends were out doing typical teenager things because Sam needed him. He chased away the monsters when Sam was little and stood between Sam and the scariest one of all when they got older: dad. Dean had taught him how to respect girls and how to earn the respect of men. He even showed him how to do the patented Winchester wrist shot.

And none of that has anything to do with who Dean is attracted to.

Sam is interrupted from his thoughts by a hulking man standing in front of the bench where he has been sitting.

"Hey, Sam," Benny drawls, "mind if I sit?"

Sam shrugs and gestures to the open bench beside him.

"You cooled off yet?"

"Yeah, Benny. It's just… a lot to process, you know?"

"You know it don't change who he is, right?"

Sam nods and a long breath of silence sits between them. "So, were you and Dean…?" he finally asks.

Benny chuckles, "Naw, man, strictly pussy for me."

"Then why did he tell you and not me?"

"As to why he told me? Sorry, Sammy, that's his story to tell. As to why he didn't tell you, well, I think he probably thought he'd never have to. You know girls are usually his thing. Ain't too many men he'd consider outing himself over. Says to me this Castiel may be more than a passing thought."

"I don't get it. If he likes girls then wouldn't it be easier to just stick with them? Why even… y'know with guys?"

"I take it you've never been in love."

Sam just shrugs his shoulders again.

Benny huffs a laugh, "Not suprisin' seeing as you're barely out of diapers." The comment earns a glare from Sam but Benny continues, "When I met Andrea I was a mess. Drugs, parties, fights… anything to make me feel… or maybe not feel, I don't know. But I wasn't lookin' for anyone. Then we met and it was… well, I knew I was no good, shoulda walked away but I just couldn't. I don't think I could have _chosen_ to not love her. It was just there. And when I let myself be happy everything changed. Now look at me, clean and sober, married with a little one. Love ain't always a choice, Sam."

"So, what? You're saying Dean's in love with this guy he just met?"

"I'm not saying that. Just saying that whatever he's got goin' on, it'd sure be easier if he knew he wasn't letting down his little brother."

"He's not… letting me down," Sam says defensively.

Benny just looks at him out of the corner of his eye, "You may want to tell him that."

"Yeah… yeah."

Benny pats him on the knee and gets up. "See ya' Sammy," he says as he starts to walk away.

"It's Sam," he corrects and he can just feel Benny's cocky smile even though he can only see his back.

When Sam returns to the room, Dean is sitting on his bed, back against the headboard with his eyes closed and his earbuds in. Sam can just make out the sounds of Zeppelin that is playing a bit too loud into his brother's ears. Sam shuts the door and the sound of it makes Dean flinch, eyes flying wide open as he meets his brother's.

Dean immediately pulls out his earbuds and stands up, "Listen Sammy, I-"

But he is cut off when Sam takes two strides forward and throws his arms around Dean's shoulders. "I'm sorry, Dean, I shouldn't have left like that."

Dean hugs him back, desperately.

Sam breaks the hug first, holding Dean's shoulders for a moment as he asks, "I just want to know, why didn't you tell me?"

Dean takes in a huge gulp of air, breathing it back out through his nose as his mouth opens a couple of times to say something that never escapes his lips. Finally, he begins, "Listen, Sam, it's not the kind of thing you tell your little brother. You weren't even old enough to drive when everything with Benny went down."

"Well, I'm old enough now. I just want to understand."

"You really want to hear this?"

Sam tries to give Dean his most supportive look and knows his brother well enough to know that a joke may help. "Yeah, just, uh, spare me any details that will give me nightmares."

It works and Dean gives him a half-hearted smile as he sits back down on the bed. Sam sits across from him on his own bed and faces his brother.

"What you gotta know is that I'm mostly into girls. There was this one time, though. I met this guy, Aaron, while we were playing a two game series in Boston. He was kinda this nerdy college student and we hit it off and one thing led to another and, well… I'll spare you the details.

"Turns out he had a fucking camera in the room and threatened to release the pictures if I didn't pay him off. I was 19 and terrified. It was my first year in the NHL and Dad had just died and I was taking care of you. I was just overwhelmed. So I told Benny this guy was trying to blackmail me and we decided to get the pictures. Damn, I was so young and so stupid!" Dean pinches the bridge of his nose as he takes a deep breath before continuing.

"So, we break into the guy's house and threaten to beat the shit out of him if he doesn't fork over the drive. What we didn't know is that he had this fucking hulk of a brother that bursts out of the back room and starts kicking ass. Man, I don't know what would have happened without Benny there to back me up. Shit went down and someone called the cops. That's how I ended up in handcuffs."

Sam had always wondered what the details behind that were. Dean had simply told him it was a drunken bar fight and never would give him the whole story.

"Anyway, it got pretty crazy with me an' Benny facing B&E and assault charges and I was still shitting a brick that the pictures would get out there. Crowley was the one who wheeled and dealed. He might have paid the guys off, I'm still not sure. He told me I shouldn't know. He did tell me that he found enough dirt on those two that I'd never hear from them again. He got them to drop all the charges and make the whole thing look like just a bunch of drunk idiots in a backyard fight."

Dean shrugs his shoulders, "Kinda swore off guys after that incident scared the hell out of me. I still worry one day I'm gonna turn on the news and see my naked ass as the scandal of the day."

Sam nods, doesn't know what to say. This story sure explains a lot about his brother and Benny. Wow, he even has some new respect for Dean's friend who has kept his secret for years. Dean is sitting stock still, his elbows resting on his knees and eyes focused on some random spot on the floor. Sam can feel the weight of the moment between them, it feels heavy, saturated, important.

Slowly, cautiously, Sam asks, "So, what about Castiel?"

"I don't know, Sam."

"Well, maybe you should find out."

Dean doesn't respond, just slowly nods his head to acknowledge his brother.

"And just so you know," Sam continues, "I'm cool with whatever you decide. "Cause, you're still my big brother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that chapter came out a bit angsty. In most fanfics Sam is written as completely accepting of Dean's revelation, often even shipping Dean and Cas long before those two figure it out themselves. I thought it would be interesting to try a new take on Sam. To explore his thought process if he had to come to terms with his brother's sexuality gradually. It worked well with this particular AU because in it he has been raised in the sometimes homophobic world of sports plus he is pretty young - just two years out of high school. Plus I love writing Sam’s POV because it’s always a challenge to get inside his head. Hope you like it!
> 
> This was a pretty character driven chapter so no hockey except the chapter title of Fake Out, which is when a player with the puck fools the opponent into thinking they are going to make one play and they end up doing something else.


	7. Slashing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything about that moment had felt like the thrill of a first kiss, filled with release and possibilities.

Dean leaned in. There’s no doubt about that. It was one of those leans where you hold your breath as the blood creeps up your neck, heats your face, makes your fingers tingle. Your heart beats a little faster and you don’t know where to look, his plush pink lips as he licks them or his hungry green eyes as they roam over your own face. Castiel has been there before. Everything about that moment had felt like the sweet thrill of a first kiss, filled with release and possibilities. 

Castiel hasn’t stopped thinking about that moment since last night. He hadn’t believed Balthazar when he had said that Dean had been looking at him as anything more than a friend, afraid to put any weight into his coach’s observations. But then Dean showed up at his room, flushed and vibrant after his big win. And in that small moment Castiel had felt something shift between them, the taught string of potential energy suddenly releasing to become kinetic. He is sure of it. He may not have the most finely tuned gay-dar out there but even he could read the want in Dean’s eyes as they roamed over his own features. 

And he would have kissed him back too, even with his sister standing there, even though he has only known Dean for less than a week. There is just something about the hockey player that he can’t get out of his head. He feels giddy and excited. This gorgeous man, this surprisingly sweet, funny, complicated man, had leaned in and was going to kiss him last night. 

But he had stopped, the spell of the short moment broken by Anna’s voice. Never in his life had Castiel wished so adamantly to be an only child! Dean had looked at Anna and panicked. He must have remembered being with her and what an awkward thing to be faced with – a past hookup standing behind the man you are about to kiss. 

Castiel knows he needs to talk to Dean. But this is a whole new game for him. Never before has he been faced with something as awkward as being attracted to a man Anna had been with. There is absolutely no precedent for how to handle this. 

What he does know is that he wants to see more of Dean and that he needs to talk to him about last night. He remembers that Dean gave him his phone number that night at the restaurant, said it was because he felt bad about the injury and to call if he needed anything. He digs around in his pocket and takes out the napkin with the numbers written in Dean’s messy script and punches them into his phone.

He can feel his heart beating faster with every ring. What will he even say? How does he even begin to address this awkward situation? He is so nervous but an energetic buzz of excitement and anticipation thrums under his skin still. He is saved from having to untangle his tongue when he hears Dean’s voice advising him to leave a message. 

“Hello, Dean. This is Castiel. I would like to see you again… to talk to you… about yesterday… if you don’t mind. I have my short program this afternoon so maybe I will try again after… if everything goes well… or if it doesn’t. I’m sorry for the rambling. I really hope to talk to you soon.”

Castiel hangs up and stares at his phone, horrified at himself, and drops the offensive gadget onto the bed like it was burning his hand. How is it that he suddenly can’t put together a cohesive sentence? And it’s the year 2014 for pete’s sake! Why hasn’t anyone invented a way to delete a regrettable voice mail?!

He sighs to himself and decides it’s time to focus on more important matters. He has his first major competitive skate of these Olympics later today and he has to get his head in the right space. He knows he needs a near perfect program to beat the extremely tough competition this year. And, while he is feeling much better about his jumps, he is still concerned about the quad, which requires nothing short of perfect balance to safely land and he has still been feeling an occasional rush of vertigo. 

He knows it’s a gamble. Putting it in could give him the points he needs to hold a top spot after the short program _if_ he lands it. Leaving it in and botching it, though, would cost him more than just downgrading it to a triple. Also, failing to land a big jump can sometimes throw off the whole rest of the program. 

Right now, though, he is feeling like he could do just about anything, quad jump included. Dean Winchester was going to kiss him! His heart skips at the mere memory of Dean leaning forward, playful grin melting into slightly opened lips, a soft pink invitation. He thinks back to being on the ice with Dean, how relaxed he was and how much fun he let himself have. He remembers that once he focused on the joy he felt when skating his jumps came naturally. Yes, he thinks, he can do this, he can put the quad into the program. 

He looks at himself in the mirror and even he has to roll his eyes at himself for his inability to stop grinning. Every time he tries to focus his thoughts on his program they keep wondering back to Dean. A flash of those green eyes and cheeks dotted with freckles (he wonders if those freckles are sprinkled over his shoulders as well), the way his rich baritone voice resonates when he laughs, the thoughtfulness he had shown to Castiel. 

He decides to turn on the television while he is getting ready, to let the droning of the background noise help calm his mind. At first it works. Castiel lets the news wash over him without absorbing it. There is an update on the events from the previous evening. A Canadian won one of the skiing events, the men’s snowboarding experienced a surprising upset, and the US hockey team beat Slovakia, Dean Winchester being the top scorer of the night. 

He is basking in his own memories when his ears catch the name of the man he had just been daydreaming about and cause his mind to focus on the words of the male reporter. 

“To Russia with Love,” the anchor announces as the segue to the story. “It looks like some of the star athletes at these winter games are finding love in this romantic city.” Castiel’s stomach suddenly feels nauseous and he whips his head out the bathroom door to watch the story unfold. 

“Dean Winchester, captain of the US hockey team, may be going home with more than just a medal. There has been buzz since his arrival of a blossoming romance with Bela Talbot, a British biathlete. We were finally able to get a confirmation this morning that the rumors are true.”

Behind the news anchor, a video plays of Dean wearing a tight smile and a beautiful woman on his arm. She has bright eyes, golden brown hair, and a wickedly sweet smile. Her hand is on Dean’s chest and she looks up at him adoringly before turning forward to address the crowd, her voice soft and sweet under her British accent, “It was so unexpected to meet someone like Dean here at the Olympics. We just had an instant connection the moment we met. I never believed in love at first sight before. Now, no matter what happens at these games, Dean and I have won something more precious than any medal.” 

Dean looks down at her with an expression that Castiel can’t read. It’s one he hasn’t seen on the man’s face before. 

The video stops and the female anchor looks at the camera, “Well, it looks like it’s bad news for the ladies. One of Sochi’s sexiest bachelors has just been taken off the market. We here at channel 9 news wish the best to Bela and Dean.”

Castiel turns the TV off but stands there staring at the black screen for several minutes, his earlier euphoria ripped from his gut, leaving him empty, numb, weak. 

How had he so completely misinterpreted the situation? Had he let his stupid crush on the handsome hockey player cloud his judgment of what was really going on? God, he was foolish! He knew Dean was straight. He knew the man had a reputation for being with lots of women. Why did he let himself believe that Dean wanted anything more than friendship? No, he probably didn’t even want friendship. He must just feel guilty for the puck incident. After all, what could a hockey player and a figure skater even have in common?

Castiel crumbles onto the bed but it feels like his insides continue to sink long after his body has hit the mattress. Five minutes ago he felt hopeful, enamored with the man who had reminded him to love skating. Just a few short minutes later he now feels like the floor has dropped out from under his feet. He feels foolish and silly for seeing signs that weren’t there. 

And, oh God, he left that ridiculous message on his voice mail. What if Dean calls him back? What is he going to tell him was the reason for his call? He’ll just have to make up something. He wants Dean to be happy and, even though he feels the bitter sting of jealousy, he can still be glad that Dean has found someone he cares about, right?

A knock on the door shocks him out of his thoughts and reminds him that he has much bigger things going on in his life than his silly fantasy of Dean Winchester. He greets his coach and forces his mind to focus on nothing but skating his best program.

Sometimes it pays to be Dean Winchester. After he got Castiel’s message he was determined to see him but backstage at the men’s short program event was locked up tighter than Fort Knox. Luckily, he happened to find a security guard who was a big hockey fan and let him back here in exchange for an autograph and a snapshot of them together. Dean smiled for the man as he slung an arm over his shoulder for the cell phone picture. A quick autograph later finds him roaming around the staging area looking for his friend.

When he listened to Cas’ message earlier it had been a relief just hearing the man’s voice. His morning had been absolutely terrible. Between the bullshit with Bela and then actually coming out to his brother, Dean was ready to just get the hell away from everyone and everything. 

He had been sitting alone in his room with his head between his hands. Sam hadn’t taken the news well that Dean was occasionally into guys. He had stormed out and Benny had gone to find him. Dean sat like that, alone and drowning in his own worry for what seemed like forever. He didn’t know what he was going to say when Sam returned. He didn’t know if he had lost his little brother’s respect and love over this and the weight of that fear felt like it could crush him at any moment. 

His phone rang and he nearly dove to grab it, hoping that it was Sam and he wasn’t too upset. But the number on the caller ID wasn’t one he recognized and he sure wasn’t going to deal with any reporters. So he let the caller go to voice mail then a minute later clicked the icon to listen to the message. 

What greeted him, however, wasn’t a stranger prying into his private life but the warm whiskey and gravel of Cas’ voice. Castiel sounded nervous but at the same time Dean thought he could almost hear a smile on the other end of the line. Dean closed his eyes and listened to the message and let the warmth of that voice surround him, the words inconsequential. 

What the hell was he going to do? Just the sound of this guy’s voice could take the edge off his frayed nerves. 

He let himself listen to the short message again, enjoying the way his name sounded on Castiel’s lips, the little hitch of hopefulness in his voice when he said he wanted to talk to Dean, the nervous breaths he could hear when Cas paused. God, he was pretty sure he could listen to Castiel talk all day. 

And Cas said he wanted to see him again. Those words shouldn’t steal the breath from his lungs the way they do. This gorgeous man who moves on the ice like he’s flying and bites his bottom lip nervously when he smiles and looks at Dean with those penetrating blue eyes and makes him feel like he’s worth more than how many goals he can score… _this man_ wants to see him again. 

It was then that Dean knew he had to see Cas again too, decided he had to see him today, in fact. Cas said that his short program was this afternoon and at that moment there wasn’t anything Dean wanted more (well almost anything) than to watch Cas on the ice again so he decided that after he talked to Sam he would head to the rink to see the skater. 

Now, he finds himself roaming around the skater’s area, the smell of hairspray and anxiety so thick it nearly chokes him. Reporters mull around as athletes and coaches huddle in intense strategy sessions and Dean tries to discreetly dodge them all, focused on finding the one man he seeks.

What he sees next stops him in his tracks. Castiel is standing in a staging area, a quasi-room cordoned off on three sides, where he is by himself with his earbuds in and a look of intense concentration on his face as he pantomimes the steps of his program. His hair has that sort of messy look again today, but it still isn’t enough to cover up the stitches on his forehead. At least the bruising is largely faded though and he is clean shaven and Cas looks _really_ good. 

And holy shit! The guy wasn’t kidding about the whole Star Wars thing! 

He’s wearing a black vest over the Han Solo off-white shirt unbuttoned just to there with dark blue pants with a red stripe down the outside of the leg and what look like black knee-high boots over his skates. And on his right leg is a faux thigh holder that is way hotter than it has any right to be. Fuck! If Dean thought he was coming here as a platonic friend, that thought gets thrown right out the window as he stares that the six-foot tall, living, breathing embodiment of one of his favorite kinks. 

He hangs back in the doorway for a moment, just watching, not wanting to interrupt Castiel in the middle of his routine. Even just kind of half-way doing the movements, Cas is gorgeous. His long, muscular limbs move so gracefully, every fluid movement flows all the way through to the tips of his fingers. And the intensity in his eyes is mesmerizing. Dean thinks he could watch Castiel all day. And shit! He’s creeping on the guy again!

The trance is broken, though, when Castiel catches sight of him and immediately stops, the look of intense concentration immediately replaced by shock as a blush crawls up his cheeks. 

“Dean?”

Dean smiles at Castiel, warm and authentic. “Hey, Cas, got your message.”

“Oh, right, of course. It was nothing. It doesn’t matter now.” Castiel answers awkwardly, looking down at the ground.

Dean drifts closer until he is standing right in front of his friend and Castiel doesn’t say anything for a moment. With his skates on, he is a hair taller than Dean and seeing Castiel looking this tall and sexy is slightly disorienting. And when Castiel swallows and licks his lips and the movement briefly has Dean’s eyes drifting down to Cas’ mouth to watch the tip of his pink tongue dart out and wet those full lips. Dean just manages to tear his eyes away and back up to notice the worry in Castiel’s downcast eyes.

Dean dips his head and catches Castiel’s eyes, “Hey… you OK?”

“It’s… just nerves, I guess. I’m on in a few minutes.”

“Relax, I’m sure you’ll do great,” Dean says with an encouraging smile. “Figured I would come and cheer you on. I’ll be the loud asshole who doesn’t know anything about figure skating yelling out inappropriate stuff like ‘shoot the puck.’”

That at least gets Castiel to almost laugh. He offers Dean a shy smile and little huff of laughter.

Castiel tilts his head and looks at Dean through his eyelashes, smirking as he shakes his head, “Dean, still thinking that life revolves around hockey?”

Dean is taken aback, is Cas flirting with him?

“Doesn’t it?” He flirts back, “My slap shot sure got your attention.”

“Winchester, if you wanted me on my back, there are easier ways than knocking me out.”

Dean’s mouth drops embarrassingly open and he is about to respond when a flash of light has him seeing spots in front of his eyes as he hears a stranger yelling his name. He blinks the blindness from his eyes to see that a microphone has been shoved at him by a short woman in a red pantsuit and just over her shoulder a camera is staring him in the face.

“Dean! Dean! What can you tell us about your romance with Bela Talbot? Is she the one?”

“I don’t… you’ll, uh, have to ask Bela,” he falters as his eyes quickly look around for Castiel, who has staggered a few steps back and is looking from Dean to the reporter.

Another reporter notices the commotion around Dean and rushes over, microphone at the ready, “Mr. Winchester, you have a history of never staying with one woman for long. But now there is Bela. Could there really be someone who you would settle down for?”

“No, I… no comment,” Dean growls, eyes darting between the reporters and their cameras. 

Dean seeks out Castiel and he watches as the skater turns, picks up his gear, and quickly slips out behind the reporter’s backs only glancing back for a second but the confusion and hurt he sees in Castiel’s eyes nearly guts him. He manages to extricate himself from the reporters a minute later, continuously insisting that he has no comments about his private life. But when he finally escapes them to look for Castiel he has disappeared and Dean hears an announcer say that the man is on the ice next so he turns to rush to take his seat and cheer on his friend. 

The flash of the camera and the obnoxious pushiness of the reporter stuns Castiel for a moment as he backs away from Dean. The reporter asks about Bela and Castiel is immediately reminded that Dean is seeing the beautiful skier. Castiel is appalled with himself for falling so easily into flirting with the man. 

He fumbles for his belongings as Dean awkwardly deals with the press. He needs to get away from here, get away from Dean and the hopefulness he brings to Castiel only to have it yanked away again. Now is not the time for this emotional roller coaster. 

He quietly sneaks past the reporters but can’t help looking back one last time at Dean. And even though their glance lasts only a second he thinks he sees regret behind those sage eyes. He tears his gaze away from that look and walks away quickly, trying to salvage what dignity he can.

He ducks into the hallway on his way to the ice and nearly runs into a short mousy looking woman with huge curious eyes and shoulder length straight brown hair. She is wearing a sweater vest and has a camera around her neck sitting over top of a press badge that says her name is Becky Rosen. Castiel groans when he realizes this is another reporter.

“Castiel Krushnic,” the woman asks, “Was that Dean Winchester I just saw you talking to?”

“I-”

She doesn’t give him time to answer before she interrupts with more questions. 

“So you two have been spending a lot of time together here in Sochi. You seem to be getting very close.”

Flustered, Castiel stammers, “W-what? I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“No?” She smiles at him, too knowingly.

Castiel backs away from her, “I’m sorry, I must be going. I have to get onto the ice.”

He nearly runs to the on-deck area to tighten his skates and prepare for his performance. All of these reporters have him much too frazzled. When Dean showed up out of nowhere, it had taken less than a minute of flirty banter for him to begin to feel composed and confident in the man’s presence. Something about Dean just makes him at ease and comfortable. And in just as short a time, that tranquility was shattered by the reporters yelling about Bela and asking the nature of his relationship with Dean. 

It’s too much and Castiel has to block all of it out to skate his program momentarily. At that moment, Balthazar and Meg come rushing up to his side.

“Cassie, ready to-” but the words get stopped in his throat when he notices the anxious look in his student’s eyes. “What is it?”

“Nothing, Balthazar. I just got a little thrown off. Dean was here and then there were reporters and…”

“Dean again? I’ll crush that man!” Meg sneers.

“No, Meg, it’s fine. He’s not a concern. Trust me. Now, I’m going to go out there complete this program.” 

Castiel steps past his coach and his manager, taking a deep breath and focusing his thoughts just in time to hear his name called.

“Representing Russia, Castiel Krushnic,” the announcement comes over the speakers and Castiel slowly heads to the center of the ice to uproarious applause. He looks around the arena and waves to the crowd, knowing that having them on his side is a good strategic move. Crowd enthusiasm can definitely influence the judges. 

His eyes roam over the hundreds of cheering faces knowing that one of them is Dean. He decides, resolutely, that he is not going to let Dean Winchester affect him anymore. 

He glides to the center of the ice, takes his pose and a deep breath and blocks out everything but the mechanics of the next two minutes and fifty seconds that are planned out to the precise second. 

The iconic first notes of the Star Wars theme blast over the speakers and Castiel is off. He talks himself through every step in his head – left, right, turn, hands, kick, spin, jump. One by one he skates through his elements, calculating points earned in his head – triple axel landed perfectly 8.5 points, flying camel spin into a sit spin 5.2 points, triple flip triple salchow combination 10 points. Sometimes Castiel feels like a calculator, trading artistry for math. But this is how the system works. 

He downgrades the quad he had planned early in the program to a triple, knowing that it will cost him 7 points. He decides to make those points up later by adding a triple after another triple to get the combination credit. Finally, at the two minute mark he has landed every required jump and there is nothing left that will risk his score. He uses this opportunity to engage the crowd and judges, flirting with them as his moves take on the styling of a light saber sword fight. 

Towards the end of the program is a movement in the music where the Imperial March plays and he does a slow spin combination during this dark, slower section. Then at the end, the music picks back up to the familiar main theme and he flies around the rink, doing split jumps as the music crescendos and ends the routine with a fast combination spin and stops on the last note of the music. 

The crowd erupts into boisterous applause as flowers are thrown onto the ice from all directions. Castiel has skated a clean program. It is certainly not his best ever, though. It felt cold and detached, mechanical. But the largely Russian audience is cheering him enthusiastically and he lets himself smile through his bows. 

Castiel skates to the kiss and cry area where Balthazar and Meg are waiting.

“Cassie! Excellent job! I didn’t expect you to go all rogue and throw in that unplanned triple toeloop.”

“Our little Clarence,” Meg jokes, “always the rebel. You know that’s all kinds of hot?”

Their excitement is contagious and Castiel finds himself laughing and joking with Meg. “Rebel, huh? Well, I have to keep you on your toes somehow.”

“Or give me grey hair worrying about what trouble you’ll get yourself into next.”

“Meg Masters worried about someone other than herself? What am I hearing? I’m touched.”

“Aw, Clarence, you’re melting my cold dead heart, but unless you plan to follow through on those compliments, save ‘em for someone who plays for your team.”

“Alright, you two. Enough flirting. Have a seat so we can get your scores,” Balthazar chimes in.

The three sit anxiously side by side, Castiel in the middle, flanked on either side by his manager and coach. And when the scores are finally read, Castiel nods. He is neither disappointed or surprised. He scored high marks for his elements, landing the jumps and completing the required moves correctly. However, he isn’t surprised to see his grade of execution score lower than it has been in the past. He just didn’t feel any passion or excitement for the routine. It felt just that – routine. It felt empty, like it was missing something important that was just beyond Castiel’s grasp.

Even with his mediocre performance score, though, his mastery of the elements puts him solidly in second place after the short program. He knows what he has to do now. He has to focus all of his energy on his long program and get his quad jumps back in the routine. And he really needs to find that spark, the passion, the joy in his skating that was missing tonight. 

He’ll have to forget about Dean Winchester and the flat disappointment that he feels knowing how unrequited his attentions would be. In the short time that he has known Dean, the man was able to bring out that spark and joy in his skating, or maybe it was just being around his infectious energy. But he can’t rely on Dean and he certainly can’t let himself be disappointed again. From now on it’s strictly ice skating and no wasting time with the hockey player who affects him too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lovely readers, thanks for your patience. I wanted to get this chapter out last weekend but real life obligations sometimes get in the way. Sorry for the delay. Thanks for sticking with me and I hope you enjoyed this chapter, although it is a rough one for our beloved Cas. 
> 
> The only hockey terminology here is the chapter title of slashing. In hockey it's kind of what it sounds like, slashing someone with your stick. But what Dean Cas fic would be complete without a little fandom slashing of our own?


	8. Five for Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True to his word, Dean is a raucous and enthusiastic audience member.

True to his word, Dean is a raucous and enthusiastic audience member. He finds his seat just in time to hear Castiel’s name announced and watches his friend skate out onto the ice. Jumping right back up onto his feet he cheers and whistles as Castiel drifts around the rink, waving to the audience. God, he wishes his face wasn’t lost in the crowd of thousands, wishes he could make eye contact with Cas. 

As Castiel stills in the center of the ice a hush comes over the crowd as they wait for the music to start. And when it does, Dean feels a thrill run through his bones as the music he loves surrounds him and Castiel pushes off to begin his performance. 

At first Dean is a bit self-conscious. He is used to hockey crowds who yelled at the refs and players alike, pound on the glass, cheer on the fights with bloodlust, and jump out of their seats, holding their breath every time a player steals a break away or crowds the net. He feels a bit like a hurricane in a bottle as the audience around him golf claps through Cas’ first couple of tricks while he tries to contain himself to just applause.

Screw that, he says to himself. Cas deserves some serious support after what he has gone through. All reservations about dignity and decorum fly out the window as Dean watches his friend land a huge jump combination. The resulting, “Fuck yeah! You go Cas!” gets him a few stink eyes but who cares? This is Cas!

Dean doesn’t know much about this sport, but what he does know is that the tension is absolutely palpable. It is three solid minutes of sheer torture. Every time he can see Cas setting up for another jump, he holds his breath and is pretty sure that his heart is trying to pound its way right through his sternum. And when Castiel gracefully lands on one razor sharp blade, Dean can feel the breath he had been holding punched out of his lungs as he whoops and hollers, jumping to his feet more times than he can count. 

Cas looks good out there, like, ridiculously good. Every movement he makes is precise, strong, athletic. He is pretty sure Cas was like three feet off the ground when doing those big jumps. Damn, the strength it must take to jump like that! Dean’s traitorous mind wonders what it would be like to have his hands on that body, sliding up under that freaking costume, exploring solid muscle that ripples under silk skin. To watch and feel as the tight sinew melts, quivering and pliant under his touch. And don’t even get him started on the ideas that come to mind when Cas does those spins, full of grace and flexibility. 

After nearly three minutes, Dean’s throat is sore and his nerves frazzled. Castiel does his final spin and Dean is the first to jump out of his seat, putting his fingers in his mouth to blow loud whistles of applause. His enthusiasm is contagious and the people around cheer with him and a few even respond by slapping his raised hands for awkward high fives. 

As the crowd takes their seats, Dean asks the older woman sitting next to him what’s next.

She gives him a funny look and says with a thick Russian accent, “You don’t know how zis competition works?”

“No. I’ve never really watched before. I just, y’know, know that guy,” he gestures towards where Cas’ face is displayed on the jumbo-tron. And Dean can’t help the stupid smile on his face as he looks at Cas sitting in the kiss & cry booth all flushed and breathing heavily, holding hands with his manager and coach.

The woman looks at the jumbo-tron and back to Dean before smiling and patting his knee. “Vell, now we vait to see ze judges scores. He vill have two scores, one for ‘is elements and anozer for ze grade of execution. Basically, ze elements are how he did technically and grade of execution is more for artistry.”

“So, he did good, right? I mean, it looked good to me,” Dean asks a bit anxiously.

She nods and gives him a warm smile. “Yes, I sink he did very vell. I sink you vill be pleased with ze scores.”

When the announcement comes on, displaying the first set of scores the audience erupts into applause. Dean takes it as a good sign and joins in the applause. However, when the second set of scores, this time for Grade of Execution, are announced, the crowd is less enthusiastic. Dean hears a few whistles and boos and looks to the woman next to him anxiously.

“What is that? Is it bad?”

The woman purses her lips and tilts her head back and forth, “Not bad, no. But… is not ze best.”

“The fuck?! why?!” Dean asks the woman, personally affronted for Cas.

“Who knows?” She shrugs, “Sometime ze judges, zey just don’t _feel_ it.”

“But, he did everything right?!” Dean officially hates this sport. In hockey, if you score, you score. Who the hell cares if how it feels?

“Yes, he did everysing right.” She said, then leans in, looking Dean squarely in the eye, an intense look on her face. “Sometime, not often, but sometime, ven everysing is right, you can just _feel_ ze emotion in ze skate. I have seen skaters move whole arena full of people to tears. Zat,” she says as she taps her finger on his chest, “zat is somesing you never forget.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that. It sounds pretty girly. He’s pretty sure that no ice skating performance is ever going to have that much of an effect on him. It’s just a sport, after all. Yeah, it was pretty exciting watching Cas do all that stuff, holding his breath with each jump. But that’s sports. He holds his breath when the Chiefs throw a hail Mary pass or when a team mate gets a breakaway. He’s sure as hell not going to get emotional over it.

He wants to go congratulate Cas so he thanks the woman and tries to stand up but she pulls him back down.

“You are friend of Castiel, yes?”

“Yeah, I mean, sure… yeah… yeah we’re friends.”

“Tell him, he is ze best skater here. Zat is easy part. He should forget scores, forget judges, forget audience. Skate for _love_ … love of skate or music or…” she shrugs, “someone special. But from his heart! Do not skate for numbers. Zen, he will bring us to tears.”

“Uh, OK,” Dean manages but he is pretty sure he isn’t going to be relaying that sappy speech to Castiel any time soon. 

She gives him a knowing smile, her wrinkled eyes shrewd and sharp. The woman surprises him when she reaches up and pats him on the cheek, the scratch of her aged and callused hand a stark contrast to the tenderness of the gesture. He is momentarily taken aback by the sign of affection and stumbles over his words as he tells the woman goodbye and makes his escape to try to find Castiel again. 

Unfortunately, the lenient security guard from earlier has changed shifts and the new guy is having no part of letting some random American guy back stage, hockey star or not. Defeated, he finally gives up and decides to leave. But he can’t get the itch to talk to Cas and congratulate him out from under his skin. 

He roams around the Olympic village for a while, taking in the sights of the excited tourists mingling with eager vendors selling their tchotchkes. Impromptu stands have been set up in a busy outdoor market where people bustle around buying sweaters, hats and scarves, flags from every country, flowers and stuffed animals, and food that smells fantastic and makes Dean’s stomach growl. 

He stops at one of the food stands and buys something that he can’t pronounce, orders by pointing to a picture. He doesn’t know exactly what it is but it looks like spiced red meat rolled up on some sort of flat bread with a big glob of delicious looking sauce. Never let it be said that Dean is a coward.

It’s unseasonably warm for a winter Olympic venue, around fifty degrees, so he takes advantage of the weather and fresh air, taking his feast and heading down to the waterfront. He finds an open bench to enjoy his spoils and the beautiful view of the sun hanging low over the Red Sea. He eats his dinner and it’s delicious, whatever the hell it is. 

When he finishes his meal, he leans back on the bench and thinks about the whirlwind that the last week has been. One week ago he was on the opposite side of the world, his life a normal routine of practice – game - press – Sam – travel. Repeat every few days. The games are played with the same team of familiar men, the interviews always about hockey, and the travel is in the comfort of his beloved Impala. It was predictable and planned, safe and easy. 

Now, only one short week later, he is sitting on the other side of the planet, eating some mystery meat, and watching the sun set over the Red Sea. He is playing _with_ new teammates and against some of his own. The press is after him, not to ask about hockey but about a romance with a girl he barely knows (or likes). His brother knows about his gay thing. And speaking of gay things, there is Castiel.

And that’s just ten tons of confusion in a five pound bag. This guy came out of nowhere and flipped everything upside down. The press, Bela, Sam, all if it started because of that first night when he drunkenly fell into the guy and got lost in those blue eyes. Why had he let this one man affect him so much? He can’t remember ever feeling so… _captivated_ by someone before. He actually attended a figure skating competition tonight?! Whose life was he even leading?

“Dean-o,” a sickly sweet voice from beside him stops his train of thought. He turns his face to see Meg, Cas’ manager, standing above him, hand on her hip and smug look on her face. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He stands to greet her. “Hi, it’s Meg, right? What can I do for you?”

“You can stay far away from Castiel.”

Dean is taken aback by the no-holds-barred approach of this woman but tries his best to keep a poker face. “No offense, but I think Cas can decide for himself who he wants to be friends with.”

“Friends?” She sneers at him, “Is that what you’re going with?”

“Yeah… _friends_.”

“You’re cute, you know that? I can see why Clarence can’t stop with the doe eyes. But you know, Dean, you’re not a friend. You’re a distraction, one that Castiel doesn’t need.”

“Who the hell do you think you are? You don’t know anything about me.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I think I do.” She slinks towards him and Dean has the distinct feeling he is being stalked by a cunning predator. “Dean Winchester, hockey star who shines bright on the ice but is pretty dim off it. High school dropout, right? Worthless father who never made it out of the minors. History with alcohol abuse and one mysterious arrest for… what was it dropped down to? Disorderly conduct? Don’t think I don’t know there’s a darker story there. Oh and let’s not forget, the infamous love ‘em and leave ‘em Don Juan. Have you ever cared about anyone but yourself, Dean? What could you possibly have to offer Castiel?”

Dean keeps his eyes as cold as steel. This woman’s words cut like a knife but he’ll be damned if he’s going to show it in front of her.

“You don’t even have the sack to come out of the closest. Don’t think you’re going to use Castiel like that while you play your media game with Biathlon Barbie.”

“You don’t know shit about me, lady.”

“I know what you hockey players are like.”

“You do, huh? And how is that?”

“I worked for a goon like you. You pros are all the same. Even if you’re only half as bad as Luc, Castiel is still way too good for you.”

“Luc? Luc Morningstar? You're talking about Luc Morningstar?”

Dean sees a flash of hurt on her cold face. It’s so quick he almost misses it. This woman must be amazing at poker! 

Dean knows Luc. In fact, he’s playing the guy tomorrow. He’s a left-winger for the New Jersey Devils and he is unequivocally a giant bag of dicks. He plays so unsportsmanlike that his nickname on the ice is _Lucifer_. The guy plays dirty, fights dirty, and has caused more than his share of unnecessary injuries, yet cries foul and overdramatizes every infraction against him. He’s a complete narcissist who isn’t happy unless there is a camera on him. Seriously, the guy showed up to last year’s ESPY Awards dressed like Colonel fucking Sanders in an all-white suit, with a girl hanging off each arm. 

“Gold star for the Ken doll. Yeah, Luc Morningstar. He was my client for a while and… maybe a little more. I did everything to help him rise and, well let’s just say we didn’t end our partnership on good terms. You know what it taught me, though? Hockey players are no good.”

“Look, I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re right about Luc. He’s a complete tool. That doesn’t mean we’re all like that.”

“Honey, even if you’re not as bad as Luc, Castiel is so far out of your league. He’s… special, a real unicorn. And he’s a cause I’m willing to fight for. He’s been through enough and a guy like you? You’ll only hurt him. So I’m telling you to do us all a favor and leave him alone ‘cause he’s so much better than the shit you wallow in.” 

She reaches up and pats his cheek, the same gesture the woman at the ice rink had done not an hour ago. The contrast is startling. Where one was sweet and motherly this is condescending, a subtle threat that sends a chill down his spine. 

“Think about it,” she says and turns on her heel and walks away.

Dean sinks back down on the bench, hit hard by the woman’s words. Some were a little too close to home. Maybe she was right. Maybe he should just stay away from Castiel, not involve him with any of his own crap. Dean’s a dropout with a history of trouble and he’s never been able to make a relationship last more than a few weeks, not to mention he’s too much of a freaking coward to come out. Yeah, she’s right. Cas is intelligent, articulate, cultured, brave and just plain good – everything Dean isn’t. 

Dean picks up his phone, resolves to tell Castiel congratulations and lie about Bela, make him believe that he and Bela are a thing. It’s better this way. Cas shouldn’t spending his time on someone like Dean. His stomach twists into a tight knot at the thought of having to do this. Dean sighs, head hung, resting his phone against his forehead as he closes his eyes and works up the will to make this call.

Castiel picks up on the third ring and Dean is awestruck by the calming effect the man’s voice has on him.

He answers with a low breathy, “Dean.” And Goddammit! Dean can just hear the hopefulness in Cas’ voice.

“Hey, Cas.”

Dean swallows, and why is it so difficult to just swallow?

“So, nice job tonight…”

“Thank you, Dean. It… wasn’t my best but at least I didn’t fall, right?”

Dean chuckles a mirthless laugh, “Yeah, it would suck to fall at the wrong time, huh?” The double meaning of his words hurt more than he cares to admit.

“I… I’m glad you were there.”

Fuck! Dean leans forward, dragging his hand over his face. “Yeah, man, me too.”

“So, I hope figure skating wasn’t too boring for you?”

“You kidding? That shit was stressful!”

Castiel laughs, he actually laughs, a low gentle velvet sound that sinks into Dean’s bones, filling them with an unexpected warmth and he can’t do it. He can’t lie and he can’t let this go.

“You were great, though. But I’m pretty sure the folks around me thought I was crazy….”

Dean goes on to tell Castiel about the audience members sitting around him who were less than thrilled with his cursing and the awkward high fives he forced on them. Castiel laughs even harder at that. He tells him about the woman he sat next to who was kind enough to explain what was going on and he very deliberately leaves out the sappy stuff she said about feelings and tears and love. Just, no. Castiel responds by telling Dean about his program, how he left out the quad but snuck in an extra triple.

Dean leans back on the bench and pulls his coat tighter around his chest while he listens to Castiel talk as the evening turns into night. It’s relaxing to watch the sky redden while the sun descends over the sea as Cas’ voice keeps him warm. He and Castiel talk like that for two more hours. They talk about hockey, skating, and life growing up an athlete (what life?). Dean tells Castiel about his dad dragging two tired little boys onto the ice every morning at 4 AM and about Bobby Singer. Castiel talks about being the odd foreign kid with no friends. But it didn’t matter because he was always on the ice anyway. They discuss everything and nothing. Burgers and movies and Classic Chevy Impalas. And Dean is shocked at how little Castiel knows about two of those subjects. Dean carefully avoids any mention of Bela.

Finally, he can’t feel his fingers or toes and his back aches from sitting on the cold, hard bench for so long. The temperature dropped once the sun went down and Dean knows he needs to not let his muscles gets chilled before tomorrow’s big game. He reluctantly tells Castiel good night and hangs up the phone, standing and stretching his cramped muscles. 

He takes one last look out over the darkened sea, no longer able to tell where the water ends and the starlit sky begins. All the way back to his room he thinks of Castiel and it isn’t until he is turning the key that he realizes he has had a stupid smile on his face the whole time. He quickly gets that in check, not wanting to answer any questions from Sam but it makes him realize how completely screwed he is over the hot figure skater. 

Dean slumps onto the bench after a grueling shift on the ice. He wipes down his sweat covered face and takes a long drink of water, spitting half of it back out. Shifting his eyes up to the scoreboard he wonders how they got here. It’s about half way through the third period and the score is tied at 4-4. 

He had skated out onto the ice after the second period intermission confident that the US had another win in the bag. They were up 4 to 1 and the Slovenia team was faltering, especially on defense. But something had happened, some change in the tide, and in the last ten minutes of play, they had evened up the score, playing with the desperation of a trapped animal.

Morningstar continues to be a force on the ice, playing his usual brand of slash and burn hockey. Benny is spitting out blood from where Luc hit him with a punishing check, his face smashing into the seam between the boards and glass. And Sam is trying to hide it but he can see his brother rubbing his knee where Luc broke a stick against it. Yeah, the asshole definitely earned the title Lucifer. Shouldn’t the devil have an aversion to ice?!

He knows they’ve got to put something together and regain the lead. Bobby is standing behind him talking to the assistant coach about maybe pulling Garth, see if someone else has better luck in front of the net against this offense. And that’s when he sees one of Slovenia’s defensemen put his stick out in an obvious hook and the whistle blows as Dean’s teammate goes down.

This could be just what they need, a two minute power play goal to gain back the lead. Dean, Sam and Vic vault over the board separating the bench from the ice, ready to play with a one man advantage. Sam takes the faceoff against Luc and he can hear the bastard jawing, trying to get under Sam’s skin. Sam plays it smart, though, keeps his cool, and as the puck drops, he wins the faceoff, directing the puck right to Dean. 

Dean takes the puck and the play begins at spectacular speed and intensity. He drives the puck towards the net, heavily pursued by Azazel, one of their top defensemen. The next minute is a flurry of push and pull, pass and shoot, chase and evade. Victor gets off a shot to the net and Dean groans as he hears the tell-tale ‘ping’ of the puck off the pipe. Shit! One inch to the right and that shot would have gained them the lead!

As the clock ticks down on the power play, he can feel the desperation amping up. Sam takes a sloppy shot that gets deflected off the Azazel’s stick, right to the waiting stick of Luc. Sam quickly gives chase, easily the faster skater with his long legs and reach. He snags the puck but Luc retaliates with a high stick to Sam’s face and the whistle blows. Luc is called on his penalty and heads off to do two minutes in the sin bin and Sam rubs his face, flexing his jaw. 

Luc says something to Sam on his way off the ice that Dean can’t hear but by the dark look on Sam’s face and menacing one on Luc’s, it can’t be good. A quick glance at Bobby tells him that his line is going to stay on the ice for this power play too. There are only a few seconds left on the first penalty so with Luc heading off the ice, they now have two more minutes to make something happen.

Dean takes the face off this time against Azazel and gets the puck to Sam. It’s two more minutes of intense play. Sam, Dean and Vic manage to keep possession of the puck most of the time but no matter where they shoot it, the goalie stops them flat. The guy’s on fire. Azazel manages to get the puck as the seconds wind down and smacks it down the other end of the ice. Sam chases it down, retrieves the puck, and turns up the speed back towards the other end of the rink. 

He’s flying down the ice, along the boards as the penalty clock ticks down three, two, one. The buzzer sounds just as Sam is crossing center ice and Lucifer barrels out of the penalty box with his stick raised. He puts his shoulder down and slams it directly into Sam’s side as he is travelling full speed, clotheslining him at the same time with his stick. 

Sam’s legs go out from under him and his head flies back and body twists with the force of the blow, blood and mouth guard go flying. He lands on his side, unmoving as the spot of blood under his face begins to spread outward. 

Dean sees the whole thing and his blood boils as he barrels towards Lucifer, ready to tear into the guy. Benny grabs him and stops him, growling in his ear something about not getting himself kicked out of the game. The blood pounding in Dean’s ears keeps him from hearing clearly what his friend his saying but it’s enough of a delay to keep Luc safe as the ref locks him right back in the penalty box. 

Dean glares at Lucifer who smirks at him casually from behind the glass. The refs give him a five minute misconduct penalty. Should have kicked him out on a game misconduct but that’s OK. It gives Dean a chance to pound the bastard’s face in once he gets out of the box.

Dean looks at his brother, who is motionless on the ice, his helmet knocked off in the collision and his long wet hair splayed out all around. The medical staff is already swarming and Dean stands helplessly as they try to revive Sam. 

Benny tells him he has to leave the ice. Bobby’s switching his line out. But Dean refuses to go until he sees if Sam’s OK. The arena is filled with some upbeat goddamn music and it’s making Dean crazy that his brother is bleeding on the ice while with Cotton Eye fucking Joe plays in the background. Bobby comes up to Dean and stands square in front of him to get his full attention.

“Hey, Winchester, I need you off the ice. Let the medical team do their job.”

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill ‘im, Coach! He should be out of the game!”

“I know. But the ref made the call and you’re not gonna change his mind standing here staring down Morningstar. Now cool off so I can get you back out here to win this game.”

“No fucking way! If Sam’s hurt-”

“Dean,” Bobby says to him and there’s something in his tone that says family rather than coach. Dean looks down and Bobby’s face has softened. “Listen, son, I know you’re worried about Sam. So am I. But he’ll be pissed if you let that Winchester temper of yours lose this game. It’s why your daddy never could get into the pros. But you’re better than him. And these guys… they’ll follow your lead,” he says, gesturing to the bench. “Now go cool off so that we can send that bastard Lucifer home empty handed.”

Dean feels the steel grip he had on his stick relax a little as he lets Bobby’s words sink in. He’s right. Sam, always the martyr, is all about the team. He’ll be pissed if Dean lets this game go because of him. He takes one more glance over and sees that they already have Sam on the stretcher and are headed off the ice as the audience cheers and a couple of guys come out with shovels and buckets to clean the blood off the ice.

And just like that the game goes on. It continues as if nothing had happened. As if Dean’s baby brother isn’t in God knows what condition in the back of an ambulance. As if Dean’s world wasn’t just shaken to pieces. As if the devil’s spawn isn’t sitting across the ice from him grinning like he just won the lottery. 

His team mates play with renewed fervor. With Sam out, Bobby switches up some line combinations and puts Vic into the power play, which makes sense since he’s definitely the best left-winger they’ve got. Benny’s in now too and he’s fighting with fire in his eyes. It gives Dean a minute to get his head back in the right place as he watches his team play and readies himself for the next line change.

The clock is winding down on Luc’s penalty and the game itself and the US team has been in almost complete control of the puck since Sam’s injury. They are playing together like a seamless unit and Dean is taking a leadership role on the bench, planning strategies with Bobby and the team. 

Vic loses the puck to Azazel who looks like he is going to break away when Benny steals it from him at the blue line and swings back, putting all of his power behind a huge slap shot. The next thing Dean knows, the siren is going off and the light behind the net is flashing. Benny got one in from the blue line! Team US has regained the lead with just two minutes left to play.

Team mates crowd around Benny to congratulate him as he drifts towards the bench. He skates straight up to Dean and pokes him in the chest with his stick. 

“ _That’s_ … for Sammy,” Benny drawls as he makes eye contact with Dean and there is no mistaking the unspoken communication between the two old friends. _Go finish him_.

Dean nods and takes his place on the ice for the face off and wouldn’t you know it, he’s facing off against Luc. A murderous grin paints over Dean’s face and the second the puck drops he tears off his gloves, grabs the front of Luc’s sweater and punches him square in the jaw. Luc was expecting the confrontation and drops his own gloves in a flash, swinging a left hook that, luckily, gets more helmet than it does Dean. 

The excited crowd is on their feet, the roar of their cheers thunderous and out of the corner of his eye, Dean spots a few other team mates in smaller scrums nearby. Refs are carefully circling the fighting players, trying to keep an eye on at least three fights breaking out at the same time. It’s a gong show and how often does that happen at the Olympics?

Dean gets in two more solid punches to Luc’s face but takes a couple of his own, a left jab that breaks the skin over his right eye and knuckles to his upper lip. He can taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth and feel the trickle of it mixed with sweat as it drips down his temple. He hopes that it doesn’t go in his eye. He needs to see Luc to beat the pulp out of him. 

Finally, Dean pulls back and puts the full force of his anger into one more right hook that lays Lucifer flat. That’s it. The ref skates over and grabs his elbow to signal the end of the fight. Dean let’s himself be led but as he does he looks up to see the crowd and his team mates cheering him enthusiastically. 

It’s a game ejection. He knew this going in but with Benny’s goal giving them the lead and less than two minutes left in the game, it was a risk worth taking. On his way off the ice, he looks up into the crowd, smiles, showing teeth red with blood, and raises a fist and the volume amps up. The audience loves it! They know Luc’s move was some dirty and dangerous bullshit and everyone loves a guy protecting his brother. He glances over to the bench and even Bobby is doing his best to hide a satisfied smile and he’s pretty sure he hears him mumble “idjit” as Dean goes past. 

Dean makes his way back to the locker room, quickly showers and changes. He does a quick bandage job, slapping some butterfly tape on the cut over his eyebrow. And then he beats it out of there, ducking out through the player’s only entrance to avoid any reporters. He has only one thing on his mind – get to Sammy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of hockey terms in this chapter as team US plays team Russia. 
> 
> The chapter title, Five for Fighting refers to a common penalty for fighting – five minutes
> 
> Hockey has three 20 minute periods instead of four quarters like many other sports. This chapter takes place in the third and final period of the game.
> 
> A Power Play is when one team has the advantage of at least one extra player because someone on the opposing team is in the penalty box (aka Sin Bin). Penalties range from minor infractions of 2 minutes and can even be a game ejection. They are up to the refs and the fans are not always in agreement with their decisions. 
> 
> If you aren’t familiar with hockey it may seem odd that the refs just kind of hover around while the players fight. Actually, this is pretty common, and it also isn’t unheard of for tensions to run so high that multiple fights happen on the ice at the same time (when this happens in a game it is often referred to as a gong show especially if multiple fights happen during the duration of the game). They usually let them go at it for a bit to let the players get it out of their system, stopping the fight if someone goes down or it’s getting too one sided. And, yes, the audience loves it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. This was a fun chapter to write with Dean's reactions to Cas' skate and the hockey fight with Lucifer. Hope you enjoyed it. Let me know what you think.


	9. Breakaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the car drops him off at the entrance, he bursts through the emergency room doors and insists on seeing Sam Winchester immediately.

Castiel has never had much of an interest in hockey. He had grown up around plenty of it, of course. Frequently his ice time would be scheduled before or after hockey practices. He would quietly find an isolated corner to change his skates, trying to steer clear of the boisterous young men around him. Sometimes they were nice, other times they weren’t, but Castiel was always self-conscious. 

They were such a tight knit group and he was always the outsider. He worried about his accent. He couldn’t relate to their conversations about pop culture. Being from a foreign country he didn’t share their history, plus his father rarely let him watch TV or movies, saying that they took away from his skating time. And most of all, he was afraid that they would realize he was gay. 

So he kept his distance, didn’t stay to watch the practices or games, and never befriended any of the hockey players. As he got older and better, his interaction with the hockey players dwindled as he was able to get more private ice time. Soon, the only time he thought about hockey players was when Anna told him about Dean or Meg about Luc. They didn’t exactly give him a good impression about what to expect from the athletes.

So how he managed to find himself sitting on the bed in his room watching a full hockey game is a mystery… sort of. If Dean Winchester just happens to be starring in said game it’s a complete coincidence, right? 

But he knows full well that Dean is the only reason he turned on the game in the first place. His infatuation with the man was only strengthened after last night’s phone call. Dean had called him and they had spent hours just talking. And now he finds himself on the edge of his seat. Who knew that hockey could be so nerve wracking? The game is exciting and fast paced and he finds himself actually cheering out loud every time Dean’s team scores.

Dean himself is stunning. He moves on the ice so fluidly, fast and smooth as he weaves in between the other players all while controlling the puck. It’s an amazing feat of athleticism. And whenever the camera zooms in on Dean’s face Castiel practically has to hold his breath. He is covered in sweat, vibrant and alive, and the intensity in his eyes is spine-tingling. 

And watching him with his brother is fascinating. They work so well on the ice together, rarely missing a pass between them. It’s like they have this sixth sense of each other at all times, like they are just aware of the other’s presence even if they aren’t actually looking at each other. And when they show them on the bench, they are usually next to each other. It’s especially heart-warming when he sees Dean say something to Sam through that beautiful smile of his and Sam rolls his eyes then turns his head and smirks a bit, probably so Dean won’t see that he actually thought whatever Dean said was kind of funny. It’s sweet and brotherly and the affection between them is obvious. And Castiel wishes he could hear what is Dean said that got that reaction from his little brother. 

When Luc’s stick connects with Sam’s face Castiel gasps out loud but thankfully, Sam doesn’t seem hurt. But the dark look Luc fixes on Sam gives him an uncomfortable feeling of foreboding. And when Luc jumps out of penalty box and immediately slams into Sam, Castiel jumps off his bed in panic. Sam isn’t moving and there is blood spreading on the ice below him. A moment later he can’t see Sam any more as a crowd of people surround him. All Castiel can think of is Dean. He must be a wreck worried about his brother. 

The TV goes to commercial and Castiel wants to scream. His heart is beating fast and he hasn’t moved from his spot in front of the TV. Sam looked really hurt and he is frantic worrying about the young hockey player and his older brother whom he has grown to care so much about. 

When the game finally comes back on, Sam has been taken off the ice. The announcer says that his condition is unknown and the game continues just like that. Castiel vows to never watch a hockey game again. It’s an emotional roller coaster and now he’s riddled with anxiety over the injury of a man he has never even met. Of course he’s sure that has a lot more to do with Dean but that’s just a little too much to even think about right now.

Castiel wills the camera _show Dean, show Dean_ as the play starts up again. The camera does find Dean’s face for a moment. He is sitting on the bench with a faraway look on his face. His green eyes dark and narrowed and it looks like he is breathing heavily. The fury in his glare is palpable. This isn’t a part of Dean that he has ever seen before. This Dean looks dangerous, fierce and feral and Castiel kind of hates himself for stir of arousal that his body feels.

Dean is sent back onto the ice and the look in his eyes is nothing less than savage but Castiel still gasps when he immediately drops his stick and gloves and grabs Luc by the jersey to start pummeling his face. Castiel’s hands fly to cover his gaping mouth and he stops breathing. The fight is so fast paced, a tornado of flying fists, and there is blood on Dean’s face but he keeps going. Castiel has never been a fan of violence but he finds a fury is building inside of him, and he wants to see Luc pay for what he did to Sam. He revels in every one of Dean’s punches. So when a solid swing to Luc’s jaw takes the man down, Castiel lets out a celebratory yell and can’t believe his own enthusiasm for the brutality he just witnessed.

Dean is ejected from the game but as he leaves the ice the camera captures his face. He waves to the audience and smiles and for a second looks directly into the camera. Those gorgeous triumphant green eyes feel like they are looking right at Castiel as his grin widens, teeth red with blood that drips down his face and chin. Castiel is overwhelmed by the cacophony of emotions that he is flooded with and he sinks back onto his bed under the weight of them. He is ecstatic that Dean beat Luc, scared for Sam, worried about Dean, and more than a little turned on by his display of raw power and fury.

He wants to go to him, _now_. He stands up and grabs his coat but stops. What right does he have to intrude? He isn’t family, has no affiliation with the US hockey team or Sam Winchester, and certainly wouldn’t be allowed in the locker areas to find his friend. Besides, he doesn’t even know if Dean will have to stay at the arena or if he will head straight to the hospital to see Sam. He paces back and forth in his room, feeling like a caged animal not knowing what to do with all of this anxiety and energy. 

In the end he decides he has no place in this situation. Dean is becoming a friend, sure, but it would seem too presumptuous if he just showed up at the hospital. Sam and Dean are family. Castiel is an outsider who just met Dean and doesn’t know Sam at all. He would just be in the way. He has no reason to believe that his presence would be welcome and he is certainly not needed. That is exactly why it is such a surprise when Dean Winchester shows up at his door a short while later looking scared and desperate.

Everything hurts. When Sam comes to he is in the back of an ambulance and people are fussing over him and speaking quickly in a language he doesn’t understand. The bright lights burn his eyes and that’s the least of his worries. His mouth tastes like blood and he can’t move at all. A feeling of claustrophobia hits him as he realizes he is strapped down, presumably to immobilize his neck, but still a panic bubbles up in his chest. 

After a moment he hears a young woman’s voice distinguish itself over the others. She is speaking English and addressing him.

“Sam? Sam? Can you hear me?”

His eyes scan around for the source of the voice and, wow, he thinks maybe he died out there on the ice, because what he sees is the face of an angel hovering over his left shoulder. She is stunning! She has a sweet, round face with soft, pink cheeks and a little beauty mark between her eyes. Waves of golden hair dance around her face. And her gentle blue eyes make contact with his, as she smiles at him, warm and concerned. And Sam takes back everything he said a few days ago about not believing in love at first sight because this is the most lovely creature he has ever laid eyes on. 

“Sam, do you know where you are? Do you remember what happened?” 

Sam tears his eyes away from her face to scan around him, confirming the fact that he is, indeed, in an ambulance. His eyes come back to hers as he slurs out “Luc-fer,” eloquently.

She looks around her, a wrinkle of worry visible on her forehead. “Um, you’re headed to the hospital. There was an accident on the ice and you collided with another player. We immobilized your neck until we can make sure you don’t have any spinal injuries. Are you in much pain?”

Sam manages to groan out what sounds like a yes and the beautiful woman says, “Oh, OK, we’ll take care of that for you. Just get some rest.”

She turns and does something that he can’t see and within moments the fog of sleep is overtaking him. He realizes then that he doesn’t want to go to sleep, wants to get this girl’s name, keep looking at her face but there is no fighting the medications that force him back to unconsciousness. The last thing he registers is her hand, gently brushing the sweat and blood drenched bangs off his forehead and he wants to just curl up and bask in the warm feeling that the touch evokes.

Dean has never missed his Impala so much. He hates being in a foreign country without his baby. He wants to get to the hospital right now and wishes he could sink into the comfort of her soft leather seats and feel the control of steering her down the highway. 

Instead he has to hail a cab and tap his foot anxiously on the seat to keep from exploding out of his skin. When the car drops him off at the entrance, he bursts through the emergency room doors and insists on seeing Sam Winchester immediately. The language barrier is infuriating as he and the woman behind the desk exchange information through painfully slow bits of comprehension. 

Finally she tells him to wait while she disappears behind a set of locked double doors. When she comes back she is accompanied by a pretty young blonde woman who smiles warmly at Dean.

“Dean Winchester? Hi, I’m Jessica Moore,” she says, holding her hand out. And thank freaking God she’s American.

“You workin’ on Sam?”

“Yes, I’m one of the team’s nurses. Let’s sit down.” 

Too nervous to sit he shuffles anxiously between his feet telling her, “No, I can’t. Just tell me what’s going on with him.”

“OK,” she acquiesces, “well we know for sure he has two broken bones in his left hand. Thankfully, the fractures are both non-displaced so Sam can expect a full recovery with proper treatment in several weeks. He also has a broken nose but that’s certainly a minor break, especially in his profession. The more pressing issue, however, is the head injury, of course. It looks like he suffered from whiplash from where he was basically clotheslined so we are doing some tests to check for spinal injuries. We gave him some medication for the pain and he is sleeping now so we will know more about his condition when he wakes up. He seemed to be experiencing some confusion right after the accident so that is certainly one of our concerns right now.”

“Confusion? What do you mean?”

“Well, when I asked him if he knew what happened he started talking about Lucifer so we aren’t sure if he is experiencing hallucinations.”

Dean can’t believe that a laugh actually erupts from him, even in this awful situation. Jessica looks at him with a look of pure shock on his face.

“He knows what happened,” Dean tells her. “Lucifer’s the nickname of the guy who hit him, Luc Morningstar. Guy’s such a bag of dicks that around the NHL he’s known as Lucifer.”

“Oh,” she says forehead wrinkled up in an adorably cute look of concentration before her expression changes to one of comprehension and relief and she returns Dean’s laugh with a smile. “Oh! Oh, that _is_ good news. I thought he was having some religious delusions.”

“So, can I see him?”

“Of course, but he’s still sleeping right now. It will probably be a while since we just gave him meds. How ‘bout we get you patched up while we wait. You look like you’ve just gone a few rounds yourself.”

“I’m fine, feel great actually. Kicked Lucifer’s ass after he fucked with Sam. Last I saw his ass was flat laid out on the ice.”

She smiles at him and she really is beautiful. He hopes she continues to be Sam’s nurse. At least give the guy a hot nurse to look at while he’s laid up. “Well, I’m probably not supposed to be say this about someone getting hurt, you know, being a nurse and all, but hearing that gives me great satisfaction.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” he whispers conspiratorially.

“Come on,” she gestures with a tilt of her head and lightly grabs his elbow. “Let me at least change that bandage on your eye. That thing’s barely holding the skin closed and you don’t want a scar on your face.”

“Speaking of which, how’s the big guy look?”

“Oh, Sam? He looks um… really good.”

And if Dean isn’t mistaken, she blushes and looks away from his eyes when she talks about Sam. Perfect, just perfect! Even half out of it with a busted up face his damn adorable baby brother has more of a love life than him. Freaking Florence Nightingale complex!

She leads Dean into an examination room and has him sit on the edge of the bed as she begins to work on his cuts. He winces as she pulls away the bandage he had hastily put on and she gives him a little apologetic look. 

“So, how long ‘till he wakes up, you think?”

“It’s probably going to be a while. We gave him some strong meds which should give him a couple of hours of rest,” Jess tells him as she cleans out the wound on his face and seals the skin back up.

A moment later they hear a commotion in the hallway and Dean looks over Jess’ shoulder to see several reporters harassing the staff to get information about his brother. He is furious that they would come here and sensationalize his brother’s injury and the last thing he can deal with right now. He’s still on edge with worry about Sam, not to mention the pain that is starting to worsen now that the adrenaline of the fight is wearing off. 

Jessica, bless her, looks at him and says, “Dean, they are going to hound you all evening if you stay here. Why don’t you get out of here for a bit? Sam won’t be awake for a couple of hours and if you give me your number I’ll call you as soon as he starts to come to.”

“I don’t know. What about Sam?”

“Don’t worry, they aren’t getting anywhere near him. I’ll make sure of that.”

Reluctantly, Dean agrees. He’s just too stressed out to stay here and deal with the press right now. Jess takes him out through the restricted area so he gets to avoid them and he soon finds himself back in the athlete’s village walking towards his room. He is anxious, going out of his mind with worry about his brother. All his life it’s been his responsibility to take care of Sam. Even when he has nothing to do with Sam’s injuries he can’t help that voice in his head (that sounds distinctly like his father) saying that he somehow failed Sam, didn’t do his job. Dean has never been able to let go of that feeling and now, with Sam lying in a hospital with who knows what kind of injuries, he feels like he is losing his mind. 

He needs to talk to someone, get out of his own head. And before he even realizes where he is, his feet have led him to Castiel’s door. He knocks and almost instantaneously the door is swinging open and a very ruffled looking Castiel is standing right in front of him.

“Dean?”

“Cas, sorry to just barge in like this. Sam is hurt and there’s reporters everywhere and I didn’t know where to go and…” Dean finds his words trail off, he doesn’t even know what he’s doing here. How does he explain why he came to see Cas? It doesn’t even make sense to him.

“Of course, come in. I saw the game. I’ve been so worried.” Castiel stands back so Dean can come in the room and he closes the door behind him.

Dean turns around to face him, “You watched the game?”

“Yes, I… well, you came to see me skate. I figured I should do the same for you.”

“Then you saw what happened?”

“Yes. Is Sam alright?”

“I don’t know, man.” The familiar worry floods Dean’s mind and he begins pacing, talking fast and animated and he can’t seem to stop the words. “I just came from the hospital. I mean there’s a couple of busted bones but we’ve been breaking bones for years. They’re more worried about the hit to the head. Jesus, another person with a fucking head injury! I’m gonna kill Luc! Fuck! It’s my job to protect him and he was just lying there on the ice bleeding and he’s still not awake and-”

Castiel stops Dean’s tirade by stepping in front of him and placing a hand on his shoulder. “Dean,” he says calmly and catches Dean’s eyes with his own, “he’ll be OK. Just… sit. Let me get you something to drink.”

Dean sits on the edge of the bed and Castiel goes over to the mini-fridge and pulls out a bottle of water, handing it to Dean who frowns at the offer. “No offense, Cas, but I think I need something a little stronger than water.”

Castiel looks away sheepishly, “I’m sorry, Dean, that’s all I--” his expression changes as his mouth drops open then into a mischievous grin, which does something kind of ridiculous to Dean’s insides. “I just remembered, someone sent me a congratulatory gift. I think there was some vodka. Would that be satisfactory?”

“Satisfactory? Hell yeah! What’ cha got?”

Castiel turns and rummages through a fancy looking gift bag that sits on the dresser and pulls out a large clear bottle with flourish. The bottle has a red label that says something Dean can’t read in Russian but he’s willing to take Cas’ word for it as he reaches his hand towards the bottle. A niggling little voice in the back of his head tells him that is may not be a great idea to down a bottle of Russian vodka with the guy he secretly has a crush on, but Dean’s never been one to let a little thing like common sense stop him and he twists off the cap, brings the cool bottle to his lips and swallows down a large gulp of the fiery liquid. 

The contrast of soothing and burning on his tongue is the perfect distraction to his worry and he lets himself disappear into that feeling as the slight tingle of warmth starts to settle in his gut. His body’s reaction is almost instantaneous. He can already feel himself relaxing into the buzz beneath his skin and the welcomed fuzziness in his mind. 

He smiles at Cas and offers him the bottle, watching as those full pink lips caress the glass and his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. It’s like watching porn and he really wants to know the taste of vodka on Cas’ tongue.

“Oh, that’s awful,” Castiel complains and his voice is even huskier than usual. Cas scrunches up his face at the strong liquid and shivers and Dean finds the reaction nearly irresistible but knows he isn’t quite that drunk yet. 

Dean laughs and reaches his hand towards the skater, motioning for him to give the bottle back so Dean can have another drink. This time he allows himself more, several swallows of the powerful drink. “You a lightweight, Cas?”

“I just don’t often drink hard liquor straight from the bottle. It’s… very strong. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Hell no, it’s not a good idea! But who fuckin’ cares? I need to be shitfaced.” Dean takes another sip then reaches up to grab Castiel’s wrist and pulls him onto the bed next to him before shoving the bottle back into the skater’s hand. “And I really want to see if a little alcohol will loosen that stick up your ass.”

“I don’t have a--”

“Just shut up and drink,” Dean interrupts and gives Castiel one of his most charming smiles to take the edge off the order.

Castiel harrumphs but there is no real anger behind the sound as he takes the bottle from Dean and takes another sip, this time controlling his reaction better and Dean can’t help the little chuckle at how endearing Cas is. 

An hour later and there is barely a finger of vodka left in the bottle. Dean is sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard and his feet up, ankles crossed. Cas is laying on his side next to him, his head propped up in his cupped hand resting on his elbow. Dean takes a final sip and puts the bottle on the night stand. 

“But,” Dean slurs, “what’cha gotta understand is… ’s my responsibility. Look out for Sammy. Always take care of Sammy. ’s what I was there for.” 

“You’re only human, Dean. There is no way you could have prevented what happened.” Castiel is looking up at Dean with half lidded eyes and flushed cheeks. Dean can tell the guy is really drunk. But he likes Cas’ kind of drunk. He isn’t hyper or stupid or belligerent, he has this quiet calming demeanor and its exactly what Dean’s flayed nerves need. 

“Should have known fuckin’ Lucifer would do some shit like that. I even saw how he looked at Sam. Should have kept a better eye on him. Sam’s always been my responsibility.”

“While I admire how you take care of Sam, I’m sure he doesn’t blame you.” Dean watches as Cas’ eyelids lazily blink and every time open a little slower. He looks like he is about to pass out. Dean feels pretty close himself.

“My dad would. Bet he’d say I let him down.”

“It’s OK. I let _my_ dad down, too. He hasn’t talked to me since I came out.”

“Huh?” Castiel’s sleepy confession surprises Dean. Cas doesn’t talk about his family much and this may be a glimpse into why. Dean looks down and Castiel’s head is now resting on the pillow and his eyes are closed. 

“Left me in America, said I belonged with the sinners there,” Castiel whispers and Dean’s hand reaches out against his own will and strokes Cas’ head.

“Shit, man, sorry. For what it’s worth, his loss.”

“I had hoped he would come and see me skate yesterday but he didn’t,” Castiel sighs. “At least you were there.”

“Yeah, I was there,” Dean breathes as his thumb continues to rub gently back and forth on Cas’ temple. He feels Castiel’s breathing slowing down and can tell he’s almost asleep.

“You’re a beautiful soul, Dean Winchester,” the words are slurred and come out as half-asleep ramblings.

After several minutes of silence, Dean whispers, “Cas?”

“Mmm?”

“How come you haven’t kissed me?”

“Anna,” Cas mumbles and its barely audible but Dean gets the message. There’s someone else in Cas’ life and it’s just another disappointment for Dean to deal with. He sits in silence in Cas’ room with his fingers tangled in the man’s soft hair until his eyes won’t stay open any longer.

***

Dean wakes to an armful of warm body and his cheek being caressed by silky hair that smells of spice. It feels so good that he doesn’t want to move… ever. He is sharing body heat from his chest to his toes and his hand is draped around the other body and tucked under a shirt so that his fingers connect with smooth skin. 

Slowly, he opens his eyes and the blanket of comfort lifts as a hangover lets itself be known. He looks at the body in his arms and realizes he is wrapped around Cas, whose nose is nuzzled under his jaw and his hot breath is tickling his neck. God, it’s heaven! Cas is solid and warm and completely relaxed in his arms and he could stay like this forever. 

But then the memories of last night come flooding back. Sam in the hospital. Cas telling him he can’t kiss him because of a girl named Anna. _Fuck_ , he mouths silently before letting himself have this for just another minute before he has to let go. He takes a deep breath, savoring the smell of Cas and very slowly pulls his hand out from under Cas’ shirt and runs it as gently as he can through his hair. He just wants to feel it graze his fingers… just one more time. He places a silent kiss on Cas’ head before carefully rolling back to untangle himself from the gorgeous skater. 

He pulls the edge of the blanket over Cas before turning to grab his coat, shoes and cell phone. There is one missed text on his phone: _Sam is waking up – Jess_. It was sent about a couple of hours ago and Dean berates himself for falling asleep and missing the message. How could he let Sam wake up without him there? After one glance back at the man sleeping on the bed, Dean turns and silently slips through the door, closes it behind him and leans over in the hallway to put his shoes back on. He needs to get to the hospital to see his little brother right away.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay in getting this chapter posted. I had a death in the family then the flu, not to mention how far behind all of that put me at work and school. Oh well, hopefully, things are getting back to normal now and I can get back to my weekly updates.


	10. Line Change

When Sam wakes up again it’s dark. He’s in a soft bed and the room is quiet save the soft beeping of medical machinery. He feels like he was just hit by a bus. His hand is wrapped in bandaging and pretty much everything from his shoulders up hurts. He gives himself a moment to get his bearings, stretching his sore muscles.

A soft voice draws his attention to the door where the beautiful girl from the ambulance stands. So she wasn’t just a dream… 

“It’s good to see you awake. How are you feeling, Mr. Winchester?”

“Call me Sam,” he groans in a voice rough from disuse and medications.

She smiles and walks into his room, stopping by his bedside, “OK… Sam. I’m Jessica… _Jess_. I’m one of your nurses. Do you know where you are?”

“Jess,” Sam whispers, trying out the woman’s name on his tongue, “Uh, yeah…. hospital? Sochi?” 

“That’s good. It looks like your memory is intact.”

“Yeah, I remember the hit- Oh!” Sam suddenly sits up and is immediately sorry he did as his head starts spinning but he needs an answer to his question. “Hey, do you know if we won?”

“Wow, you’re in a hospital bed and that’s what you’re worried about?” She raises her eyebrows and crosses her arms but the smile on her face says that she gets it. “Your team won. Benny LaFitte scored the winning goal and your brother got tossed out of the game for knocking out Luc Morningstar. Speaking of which, just a moment, I promised to text him the minute you woke up.”

“He isn’t here?” 

“No,” she says without looking up from her phone, “I made him leave a couple hours ago. He was really worried about you and I didn’t want him having to deal with all the reporters. Your coach showed up a bit ago and chased them all away, though.”

“Maybe you could hold off a bit before texting him? Give him some time. He’s probably exhausted and he’ll just come here and mother hen me.”

“Oh no,” Jess shakes her head at Sam, “I watched the highlights of that game. I’m not incurring the wrath of Dean Winchester. He’s kind of terrifying,” she says with a fond smile on her face. 

Oh great, thinks Sam, another girl falling all over his brother. A little sting of jealousy comes out of nowhere. Why does he feel so jealous of Dean over this girl? Dean gets gorgeous women all the time and it never bothers him. Well, truth is, he is really attracted to Jess and has spent every minute since she walked in the room thinking about how to make a move. 

“I guess,” Sam grumbles trying not to sound too petulant.

“I’m kidding, Sam,” Jess teases, “truth is, I’m a big sister myself and I would want someone to let me know if Emma was waking up after a hit like you took. Big sibling code, you know?”

That makes Sam laugh, which kind of hurts but he doesn’t care because when Jess laughs too the sound is so beautiful. Sam lays back down, his head still fuzzy and sore. 

“OK, I get it,” Sam concedes and wracks his brain thinking of a way to keep her talking, keep her from leaving the room. “So… how did I end up with an American nurse in Russia?”

“Oh, you’ve got Russian doctors out there too. But I’m on the US hockey team’s medical staff. We are working with the local medical team.”

“Oh. Well it’s… uh… nice… to have you… I mean a nurse like you… I mean an American, not that I don’t like Russians. It’s just the language,” Sam groans at his own mouth. Why can’t he form a sentence? Is it this girl? “Ugh! How hard did I hit my head?”

Jess smiles at him, big and warm and chuckles at his confusion. “Easy there, don’t hurt yourself. I understand exactly what you’re saying. And you’ve got a whole team of people from both countries working on you. You’ll be fine.”

Wow, this girl has such an easy going way about her just her voice is putting him at ease. Hopefully he can get his traitorous tongue to make him sound like he’s actually been with women and not like a 15 year old virgin asking a girl out for the first time.

“So, Sam, now that you’re awake, are you feeling up to some tests? I’d like to let your doctors know that you are up. I’ll have to call some in since it’s the middle of the night but everyone’s anxious to make sure you’re OK.”

“Middle of the night, huh? So how did you get stuck with the graveyard shift?”

“I, um, volunteered… actually,” Jess says as she looks down at the notebook in her hand. 

“Oh… well, thanks. I’m glad you did.”

It’s kind of dark in the room but Sam swears he sees a little blush creep up Jess’ neck and make her pink cheeks even rosier. It’s really pretty and hot damn, if he’s reading these signals right, he’s totally got a chance here. 

She coughs into her hand and fumbles with her notebook. “Well, I’m going to alert the team that you are up so we can get you a clean bill of health, OK? Just call the desk if you need anything.”

She exits the room and Sam can feel his heart beating much quicker than normal. What is it about Jess? _Jess_. He whispers the name again, tasting it on his tongue, lingering on the s at the end. It’s lovely and sweet and he thinks the name matches the enchanting nurse. Wow, he’s crushing hard on the girl under all those soft blonde curls. Damn, he should have told her he wasn’t ready for the doctors to come back, kept her talking longer. What if her shift is over now that he’s awake and she leaves? He doesn’t even know her last name or how to get in touch with her again. 

He sighs and closes his eyes, not much he can do now but wait for the poking and prodding of the medical staff. He really doesn’t like the look of the wrapped up hand. He’s still got several games to play here at the Olympics. He can’t be taken out of the competition by an ass like Luc Morningstar. 

He was right about the poking and prodding. After at least an hour of scans and tests and questions and examinations the doctors finally leave his room, presumably to huddle up and decide just how broken he is. Its once again quiet until he hears a soft knock at the door and when he looks up his heart does a little flip when he sees Jess and hell yeah, she is carrying a tray of food!

“Hey, Sam, thought you might be up for something to eat? I mean, its crappy cafeteria stuff but at least it isn’t hospital green Jello, right?”

“Yeah, thanks. That’s great. I’m starving, actually.”

She swings the table arm over his bed and sits the tray of food down on the surface. There is juice and tea, a big nice looking fruit salad and a fresh sandwich. There is even a slice of chocolate cake for dessert. His stomach growls in anticipation as he looks down at the tray and it takes him a moment to notice that Jess has turned around to leave.

“Hey! I could use some company… if you’re not too busy that is.”

She turns around and bites her lip before relaxing into a smile and drops herself down into the chair by Sam’s bed. “OK, Sam, you got me to stay. What do you want to talk about?”

Sam pops a grape in his mouth and thinks for a moment. “I don’t know, the usual, I guess? How about… why nursing?”

“Ah, an easy question, _so_ predictable,” she giggles and rolls her eyes feigning boredom. “My dad is a doctor and I really admire him, always wanted to go into the medical field but I liked the hands-on nature of nursing more than the diagnostic side of being a doctor. He spends a few minutes with his patients where I get to spend hours with them and really help them and their families. It’s really rewarding.”

Sam nods and chases down a bite of his sandwich with a few gulps of juice. “So how’d you end up working for the Olympic medical team?”

She gives him a little nonchalant shrug and grabs a strawberry out of his fruit salad. It surprises him and kind of warms him at the same time that she is forward and comfortable enough to share his food. “My father is the head neurologist for the US Olympic medical staff. I convinced him to put me on the team, told him I wanted to go into sports medicine. Plus, never underestimate the power of a little nepotism,” she giggles. “OK, my turn… why hockey?”

“Pretty much the same,” Sam mumbles around a bite of sandwich and takes a huge swallow so he can speak clearly. “Family business, like you. My dad was a hockey player. My brother’s a hockey player. It kind of felt like the decision was made for me.” He shrugs, “I do love it, though. And Dean and I make a pretty good team.”

“For what it’s worth, I think it was a good decision. You’re _really_ good… obviously if you made it to the Olympic team.”

Now it’s Sam’s turn to blush. Yeah, he knows he is good at his sport, Winchester is quickly becoming a name everyone around hockey knows. But for some reason, hearing Jess acknowledge it makes him feel that flutter in his stomach. Has she watched him play? 

“So,” she asks, “what would you have done if you hadn’t gone into the family business?”

“I got accepted to a few pre-law programs that I applied to as backups in case I didn’t get picked up in the draft.”

Jess’ eyebrows raise, “Pre-law, huh? Smart _and_ good looking… nice.” She nods appreciatively and adds, “So where were you thinking?”

“Boston, Yale or Notre Dame for hockey of course, but I really had my eye on Stanford for law.”

“Wow… how smart are you?”

“Uh…” Sam responds eloquently. Nice way to show off that Stanford vocabulary, Winchester.

“Wait… don’t answer that. I don’t want to be intimidated by your genius.” Her easy smile really puts Sam at ease and takes away the uncomfortableness of the question. “So, you think you’ll ever go back?”

Sam hadn’t really thought about that. Hockey had dominated his life for so long the idea of law school had always just been a little bug in the back of his mind, a backup plan for if he was ever seriously injured or not really as good at his sport as everyone seemed to think. 

“I don’t know, maybe. I never really thought about it once I was picked up.”

“So it’s all hockey all the time?”

“Well,” he decides to amp up the flirting just a bit, “not all the time. All work and no play, you know?”

“Oh, I seriously doubt Sam’s a dull boy,” she grins back.

“Sadly, I kind of am. Aside from the night of debauchery Dean drags me out to every once in a while, I mostly like to read.”

“Bookworm, huh? Well you’re in good company. My apartment looks frighteningly like Flourish & Blotts and I can’t seem to part with a single one of my beloved books.”

“You ever hear of a Kindle?”

“Can’t do it… love the smell of paper books too much. So, what’s the last good thing you read?”

Sam can’t believe it. With every passing minute this gorgeous creature gets more and more perfect. She is funny and sweet and understanding and shares his passion for reading. It’s the middle of the night and he should be exhausted but he’s so wrapped up in Jess he doesn’t even notice as the minutes then hours tick by.

Dean practically runs to the hospital. Sam’s probably been awake for hours and he wasn’t there. That familiar sense of guilt begins settling in his stomach. How could he be so careless and let Sam wake up in a hospital in a foreign country all by himself? If only he hadn’t gone to Cas’ room last night. Cas has his him totally distracted and he can’t let himself lose focus. There’s too much at stake here. He’s got enough going on with his brother and the Olympic games.

How could he be so careless? Sam was hurt last night and now the sun’s actually coming up and he isn’t at his brother’s side. He must be wondering where Dean is. He’s got an apology all ready but when he gets to Sam’s room he stops outside the door. There is laughter coming from inside the room, Sam’s and a woman’s. 

He hears his little brother, “… so there I am singing in the shower not suspecting a thing when my hair starts falling out in in these giant disgusting clumps.”

“Oh, no, he didn’t,” Dean hears the woman’s shocked voice exclaim.

“Yep, the dick put Nair in my shampoo bottle. Oh yeah, and it was two days before the winter formal dance. My date’s parents thought I was a skin head!”

The woman laughs, “Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing but that’s really funny.”

“You’re kidding me! You’re siding with him?!”

“Well, you did say you left a dead fish under the seat of his car when he had a big date.”

“Yeah, but that was revenge for him changing all of the names on my Civil War report to rapper names. Abraham Lincoln was Al Dog and Ulysses S. Grant was U.G. Shizzy. I actually turned it in like that! My teacher thought I was losing my mind.”

The woman’s laughter is rolling as Sam tells her stories that Dean remembers fondly. 

“Oh my God, Sam, stop. I’m crying,” she manages between giggles. 

“I never did get him back for the Nair, though. I had to concede defeat before someone got seriously hurt. But one day when he’s least expecting it…”

“You’ll what, Sammy?” Dean bursts into the room, “You gonna get even with me? You don’t want to mess with the master.”

“Dean,” Sam looks up and grins at his brother and nods in mock seriousness, “when you least expect it, Dean, when you least expect it.”

“Good morning, Dean,” Jess says.

“Hey, Jess, right? Thanks for keeping an eye on the big guy here for me.”

“It was my pleasure. Well,” Jess says as she gets up and gathers her things, “I’ll leave you to talk to your brother. And Sam, thanks for making what could have been a long boring graveyard shift really… nice.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Dean watches her leave the room and turns back to his little brother, raising his eyebrows and giving him a knowing smirk. “Look at you, Sammy, playing doctor with the hot blonde.”

Sam gives him a bitch face and a huff, “She’s my _nurse_ , Dean.”

“Yeah OK, Romeo. And what part of your medical care required charming anecdotes from your childhood?”

“Shut up.”

Dean just laughs at his brother’s pout. “So, how are you feeling? What’d the doctors say?”

“Broken hand,” Sam says with an exasperated expression on his face and holds up his bandaged hand.

“Shit…”

“Yeah, going to be tough to hold my stick like this. And kind of messed up my neck when Lucifer tried to behead me. They’re bringing in a specialist to work on it. Apparently a couple of vertebra got misaligned.”

“I’m going to kill that son of a bitch.”

“I heard you came pretty close last night.”

“Yeah, the fucker apparently only knows how to hit dirty. I dropped the gloves and got him in a straight fight and he went down like Courtney Love at a crack house.” 

Sam makes one of his faces at Dean’s crude simile, “Well, at least we won the game.”

“Which means you’ve got two days to get better and back out on the ice. I need you. We can’t do this without you.”

“There are four other guys who can play your right wing. You can still do this without me, Dean.”

“Yeah, well… I don’t want to.”

“I’ll try, Dean. Just, be prepared to play without me if you have to.”

Dean doesn’t respond to this. He hates the idea of Sam not being able to play at his side. Nothing feels more right then when he and Sam are in the zone, passing, scoring and kicking ass together. And he really didn’t like the sound of a neck injury. Those can be tricky, the thought of a career changing injury is something that is always hanging over professional athletes.

After about ten minutes Sam starts yawning and his eyes start drooping. He tells Dean that he has been up since the middle of the night with tests and Dean fills in the blanks about spending a lot of that night talking to Jess because there were certainly no tests happening when he arrived. Dean tells him to get some sleep and promises to come back in the afternoon to check on him again.

He’s actually pretty exhausted himself, his hangover has been playing the bass drum in his head since he woke up and he can still taste that awful morning after vodka taste in his mouth. A hot shower and a soft bed are the only things he has on his mind as he heads back to his room.

He stands under the hot stream of water and closes his eyes, reflecting on the series of events that have thrown him for a loop in the past couple of days. The fight with Luc, his brother’s injury, Benny’s game winning goal, and waking up this morning wrapped around six feet of hot figure skater. OK, that last one hasn’t left his thoughts since his eyes opened before dawn. 

He hadn’t planned on getting drunk with Cas and dumping all of his crap on the guy. He felt ridiculous for whining about his life. He had told the man everything about his shitty past, how his dad had left him in charge of a five year old for days at a time, how terrifying it had been the first time he had to deal with Sam getting hurt, rushing his crying baby brother to the hospital on his bicycle handlebars, panic rising up in his throat so severe he could hardly breathe. He groans remembering that he even told Cas that he sometimes secretly hated his father for leaving them like that. What must Cas think of him?

Well, maybe he doesn’t think too badly of Dean considering that he woke up with the guy on his shoulder. That though brings back the memory of Cas’ hard body along his. Jesus, the guy is all muscle. And Dean can still feel the silky softness of his hair tickling the sensitive skin between his fingers. His cock twitches in interest as his mind starts to recount exactly what Cas felt like, looked like, smelled like.

He reaches down and palms himself as he closes his eyes and pictures Cas, laying on his side looking up at Dean with those deep blue eyes, remembers his mouth as it caressed the vodka bottle and his tongue as it licked the strong drink’s remnants from his lips. Dean strokes himself as he imagines Cas’ voice and the way he says Dean’s name. He thumbs his slit picturing Cas doing those fucking impossibly flexible spins. And he comes remembering the warmth of Cas’ skin along his arm tucked up into the skater’s shirt last night. Jesus, he’s fucked over this guy.

He falls into bed a few minutes later, lost in that place between pleasure and shame.

The repeated buzzing of his phone wakes him sometime later. It feels like only moments have passed by but the clock on the wall tells him it’s after noon and he stumbles out of the bed, rooting through the pockets of his jacket to shut the phone off and go back to sleep. He glances down, however, at the screen and what the hell? Eighteen messages from Crowley?

_I can’t leave you alone for a day and you are already in trouble? Call me._

_Pick up your phone, squirrel. We’ve got damage control to do._

_You can’t hide from me forever. Call me as soon as you get this._

The texts continue with the strange messages until he sees one that has the word DUMBASS in all caps with a link next to it. Dean clicks the link and is taken to an online celebrity news website with the headline: Dean Winchester melting the ice in Sochi with latest love interest Castiel Krushnic.

Holy shit! The article gives a pretty detailed description of every time he and Cas have spent time together, from them skating together to Dean meeting Cas backstage before his short program the other night, and finally reveals that he spent the night in Cas’ room last night, making no qualms about insinuating what went on behind that door. What the hell? How did someone even know all this? Yeah, there are reporters everywhere but he had thought the whole Bela story had thrown them off. The reporter on this story must be following him or something. 

Dean reluctantly calls Crowley back, prepared for a thorough ass reaming from the douchebag.

“Hello, Dean, nice of you to finally call. Regretting your French mistake?”

“Crowley, nothing happened. That whole fucking article does nothing but jump to conclusions just because we’re hanging out together.”

“Listen, Casanova, I couldn’t care less who you sodomize but your adoring public does. Castiel’s been wearing ruby slippers for years so naturally you spend this much time with him someone’s going to assume you’ve gone over the rainbow too.”

Dean sighs and drags his hand over his face, “What do you want me to do?”

“Slap on your chap stick and pucker up, buttercup. You and Bela have another appearance to make. And sell it this time. I want to see authenticity, passion, devotion.”

“Jesus, Crowley, we’re not making a chick flick here.”

“Of course we are and I was born to direct! So get cleaned up. I’ll call you back with a time and place for act 2.”

Dean hangs up the phone and suddenly remembers what Cas said last night about Anna. Cas said he was gay but… well Dean says he’s straight so there’s that. What if Anna is a girlfriend or something? What if this news gets to her and screws up Cas’ relationship? Shit! He needs to warn the guy. 

He calls Castiel, who answers almost immediately, “Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Cas.”

“How is Sam?”

And something inside Dean’s heart does a little flip at the fact that the first thing Castiel would ask about is Sam. Cas just gets him, gets how important Sam is in his life.

“He’s recovering. A couple broken bones and a neck injury they’re still working on but he’s awake and macking on the hot nurses which is a good sign.”

Castiel laughs and Dean can hear the tension leaving with his breath. He must have really been worried. 

“Hey, listen, what I’m calling about. There’s this news article this morning. Probably no one will even see it, not like it’s one of the major new sources or anything but I wanted to give you the heads up.”

“OK?”

“See this reporter, she’s apparently following me like a creeper. She saw us at the restaurant the other day, and skating, and well everything. She knows I was hanging out with you last night and her article makes it sound like we spent the night together. Like _together_ together. I hope this isn’t going to screw things up with Anna.”

“Anna? Um, I don’t think she will be concerned. I’m sorry, Dean, but she moved on a long time ago.”

“Moved on? But she was in your room the other day.”

“Yes… she wanted me to have some family here. Our father certainly won’t be showing up.”

Hold the phone! Did Cas just say _our_ father? As in Cas and Anna share the same father? They’re siblings? What the hell? Dean’s brain short circuits a bit while he processes this new bit of information. 

“Wait… Anna’s your sister?”

“Yes, Dean. I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. I understand if you would prefer not to continue our friendship because of that.”

“Hold up. I’m missing something here. What does Anna being your sister have to do with anything?”

“I thought you might feel awkward being around her since you and she had once been together.”

Oh, fuck! Dean has never hated his traitorous dick so much. He thought the girl in Cas’ room looked familiar. Now it all makes sense. He must have slept with her at some point in the past, probably a random hookup during that lost drunken rookie year. 150 million women in the US and he manages to bang Cas’ sister? 

So that’s what Cas meant when Dean asked the question last night about why he hadn’t made a move. He was afraid Dean would be uncomfortable because of his past with the guy’s sister. Sure, it’s just this side of some Jerry Springer shit but Dean can’t bring himself to care right now because his brain is too busy processing the fact that the only thing holding Cas back is something that doesn’t even matter to Dean. 

And wait a second, is he seriously considering pursuing something with Cas? All he knows is that his chest suddenly feels a lot lighter and his brain can’t seem to think anything but Cas. 

“Hey, Cas. I gotta go take care of something. But, uh, what are you doing later?”

“Nothing.”

“I kind of promised my friend Jo I’d go see her snowboarding competition and with Sam laid up in the hospital I could use some company. What do you say?”

“That sounds like fun. I’d love to go.”

“Great. I’ll text you the details and meet you later? Oh, and Cas? The Anna thing… not a problem for me at all.”

He hangs up and texts Crowley back: _Change of plans. Call me to discuss._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just have to say, I loved writing Jess in this fic, so much fun to try to explore what kind of girl Sam would fall for. Things really start to kick into gear now and in the next chapter.


	11. Gordie Howe Hat Trick

Dean hangs up from his conversation with Cas and starts to plan the rest of his day. He has a lot to do. He wants to visit Sam, take care of this mess with Bela, and get to the snowboarding competition with Castiel. Sam, of course, is his first priority.

His brother has now had several hours of sleep and he knows that he’ll be waking up wanting some of his own belongings. He grabs a bag and begins stuffing it with Sam’s clothes, toothbrush, cologne, and ridiculous hair products first. Next to go into the bag are Sam’s cell phone and tablet computer. Satisfied that he has everything that he’ll need, he heads out to the hospital, hopeful that Sam is awake and feeling better.

Thankfully, when he gets there, the pretty American nurse, Jess, is behind the desk so he doesn’t have to struggle with any language barriers.

“Dean, nice to see you again,” she greets him with a smile.

“Hey, Jess, how’s Sam doing?”

“He’s actually getting some tests right now. He’ll be back in a few minutes. Do you want some coffee while you wait?” Jess comes around from behind the nurse’s station and walks with him down the hallway to a coffee machine that produces two cups of horrible black sludge. Jess hands Dean a cup with an apologetic look on her face, “Sorry, coffee from a machine is pretty gross but it’s all we have on this floor.”

“Trust me, I’ve had worse,” Dean tells her as they take a seat in some plastic chairs in the little waiting area.

“I’m glad you’re here, Dean,” Jess eyes him cautiously over the edge of her coffee cup, “I could actually use your help with something.”

“Sure, what do you need?”

“It’s Sam, actually. We really don’t think he should be playing in tomorrow night’s game. But he’s, um, pretty insistent on not sitting it out.”

“Sounds like him,” Dean acknowledges, knowing that his brother is tough and absolutely refuses to ever give in.

“Well, I was kind of hoping maybe you could help convince him to take the game off.”

Dean sighs, “Listen, is it really necessary? Hockey players… we play injured all the time.”

“It’s the neck injury, Dean. We really don’t like to take risks with that. We can’t force him to do anything, but we just don’t want to expose him to more serious injuries.”

“So what makes you think he’ll listen to me if he won’t even do what the doctors say?”

Jess shifts uncomfortably in her seat, “Um, I kind of get the feeling he is so insistent on playing because he doesn’t want to let you down.”

“Jesus!” Dean shakes his head at his idiotic brother. He can’t imagine being anything but proud of his Sam. The kid is smart, kind, and one of the best hockey players he knows. 

Jess just shrugs her shoulders and gives him an apologetic look. “He said he has to play because you need him. From the way he talks about you, it’s obvious he looks up to you as both the captain of the team and as his brother. I just think that if you told him it’s OK to sit this one out, he would actually listen. God knows he isn’t going to listen to his doctors.”

“Yeah… yeah, I’ll talk to him. He’s not going to like it so what can I tell him about the rest of the games?”

“Let’s just take it one at a time, OK?”

Dean nods and falls into silence. He knows that Sam isn’t going to like the idea of sitting out a game. The kid is stubborn as can be and one seriously dedicated player. He never misses a game or complains about injuries. He’s a hockey player. He comes from a legacy of men who take a puck to the face, yank out a broken tooth or two, and jump back onto the ice the next shift. His heroes are players who refused x-rays on broken legs so that they wouldn’t have to sit out games and scored winning goals with full on concussions. The phrase “hockey tough” means something to Sam and Dean and he knows it’s probably going to be a fight to get Sam to agree to sit out. 

Jess coughs and fidgets in her chair before finally asking, “So, is there anyone else we should call… about Sam? Like a relative or a girlfriend?”

Dean almost laughs. Well, she’s about as subtle as a freight train. “You asking if he’s single?”

“No! I… it’s… for notification-” Jess flusters out.

“Jess,” Dean interrupts trying to rescue her from her embarrassment, “he likes you.”

Jess opens and closes her mouth a couple of times, at a loss for words, and Dean can’t help but grin at this girl who might just be perfect for his little brother. She is beautiful and caring and smart and seems to really like Sam. Maybe this is just the distraction Sam needs to keep his mind off of his injuries. 

“Books and dogs,” he tells her matter-of-factly and watches in amusement at the confusion on her face.

“I… I’m sorry?”

“Books and dogs – the way to Sammy’s heart. Kid’s never met a dog he didn’t want to adopt or a book he didn’t want to read so if you want to talk to him, that’s your starter.” 

Jess blinks at him a few times, “Are you seriously telling me how to woo your brother?”

Dean shrugs, “Just giving you a little assist. I can feed you the puck, you’ve got to take it to the net if you want to score.”

Jess scoffs lightheartedly, “Really, Dean, with the hockey metaphor?”

Dean shrugs and gives her one of his most adorable smirks, “Just don’t mention Marley and Me if you don’t want to see a grown man cry.”

Jess laughs and when she smiles Dean can see why Sam likes her so much. She really is lovely.

“Gotta warn you, though, guy’s got shit taste in music and food so dates may be torture.”

“Well, thanks for the heads up, Dean, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Sam gets back just a few minutes later and Dean spends the next half an hour talking him out of playing. It’s pure torture. He wants Sam to play with everything he has and he knows how bad Sam wants it too. But in the end, Sam’s wellbeing will always win out and Dean finally has to tell Sam that he’ll give him an injury himself that will definitely keep him out of the game if he doesn’t shut up and get some rest. To soften the blow he tells Sam that the next game is just a formality, a small hurtle to get over before the medal rounds, where he is really needed. So Sam’s best contribution to the team is to rest and get better so he can make a difference in those later games. 

Sam finally gives in and Dean prepares to leave for the afternoon, but not before turning around and tells his brother, “Dude, you want to get your mind off the game? Make a move on the cute nurse. Trust me, she’s into you.”

Sam gives him an epic bitch face, which Dean ignores and ducks out the door.

Not long after he leaves the hospital, Dean finds himself standing in front of two irate Brits with a hand full of reporters waiting to hear the latest Dean/Bela gossip on the other side of the door behind him. 

“You can’t be serious, Dean, I thought we had a deal?” Bela seethes as she looks up at Dean. 

“Look, Bela, I’m sorry but this whole thing is fucked up. I never should have gone along with this little game to begin with. I’m not here to talk to reporters about my personal life. It’s no one’s business.”

“Oh, you think that because you want to keep your extracurricular activities private _they_ are going to respect that? I’m sorry, but if you don’t tell them something, they will just make up their own version. Why not use their bloodlust for juicy gossip to further your own interests?”

“My _interests_ here are hockey and my brother. I’ll let my performance on the ice speak for itself. I don’t need this tabloid bullshit.”

“But what am I supposed to tell them? After the big show about us being in love and all of the questions I have answered the last few days, think of how it’s going to look if we suddenly just change our minds.”

“I don’t give a shit how it looks and people change their minds all the time.”

Crowley, who had been listening to Dean and Bela and getting angrier by the minute interrupts, “Listen, Dean, I’ve worked very hard for you, burying your indiscretions. It hasn’t been easy making a clod like yourself presentable to the public.”

Dean decides to let the insult go and be the bigger person. 

“I’m grateful for what you did for me when I was a kid, I am. But that shit stops now. All decisions, and I mean all, go through me. You’re not the puppet master here anymore. This Pinocchio’s a real boy now.”

“Listen, squirrel,” Crowley positively growls back, “I didn’t spend years cultivating the Dean Winchester image just so you could Thelma and Louise your career with the ice queen.”

Dean takes two steps and stops directly in front of Crowley, towering over his manager, staring down at him just inches away. To his credit, Crowley barely flinches, just stares up at the intimidating man above him.

“Watch it,” Dean growls, eyes narrowing on the little man. “This is about me, leave Cas out of it.”

“Oh, he’s a part of it at this point since you seem hell bent on throwing everything away for a romp with some prissy figure skating twink.”

Dean reacts so quickly he surprises even himself. Before he knows it his fist is connecting with the side of Crowley’s face and the smaller man reels, grabbing his cheek looking at Dean with a stunned expression. Bela looks between the two men cautiously backing towards the door.

“Damn that felt good!” Dean exclaims. “This is my life, my image, my decisions. I’m the one who did the work to get to where I am, not you. And I’ve made you a very rich man off my back so don’t ever make a decision again without consulting me first. Don’t forget _you_ work for _me_!”

Crowley, tough little guy that he is, just straightens himself out, wiping the blood from his lip with a monogrammed handkerchief he pulls from his pocket. “No worries, mate. I won’t be consulting your majesty on anything in the future because you will be finding yourself a new manager. Oh, and Dean, you are going to sorry about your actions here today. Mark my words.” 

With that, Crowley strides past Dean and opens the door, gesturing for Bela to leave as well. The two exit the room leaving Dean standing alone with nothing but an ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach. Yeah, maybe he had gone too far punching Crowley like that but the douchebag was asking for it. He didn’t really care what Crowley said about him but he was not going to let him drag Cas down. 

Castiel sits in a little coffee shop, soaking in the strong black liquid and nursing one heck of a hangover as he reflects on his strange day. 

He had woken this morning to the ache of a pounding head and that horrible fog of a bad hangover. He stayed in bed trying to remember the night before. He remembered Dean coming over upset about Sam and he recalled digging out the bottle of vodka to share with his friend. After that the memories got a little fuzzy. Bits and pieces of their conversation came back to him. He had mostly listened as Dean told him about his worry over Sam – both now and pretty much for his entire life. 

Last night his respect for Dean had grown as he described a childhood taken away from him by the responsibilities of caring for a younger brother. Although Dean minimized the importance of the sacrifices he made, Castiel knew better. He could see the selfless and caring person that Dean was, no matter how much he tried to downplay it.

What he didn’t remember was how the night ended. The last thing he remembered, he and Dean were sitting on his bed with about half a bottle of vodka downed between them. He didn’t even remember going to sleep last night. When did Dean leave and why? He hoped it wasn’t because of Sam’s condition. And that thought brought a whole new set of worries over Sam’s health. 

Hoping that Dean thought to text him to let him know if his brother was alright, Castiel rolled over and picked up his phone, noticing that it was already the afternoon. Just then the phone buzzed and nearly gave him a heart attack from the surprise and the spike of pain that blasted through his hung-over head. He saw Dean’s caller ID and answered immediately, eager to find out if he and Sam are both alright. 

The conversation with Dean was brief and strange. Cas asked about Sam immediately and was relieved to hear that the young hockey player was awake and doing fairly well. But then Dean told him that there were news reports about the two of them together. Castiel’s first thought was of anger. How dare some reporter publish assumptions about Dean’s private life and his sexuality? It’s infuriating and Castiel knows from personal experience that rumors like this, true or not, are inexcusable and can be damaging both personally and professionally. He was ready to tell Dean just that but Dean’s concern was of Anna. 

Castiel’s poor fuzzy head didn’t handle the strange inquiry well. He fully expected Dean to be panicking about being accused of being gay but instead he was worried about Anna? Surprised and honestly a bit disappointed that Anna was on his mind, Castiel grumbled that she had moved on and told Dean that if he was uncomfortable because of Anna, he would understand. Then much to his astonishment, Dean completely shifted gears and asked him to go see a snowboarding competition and told him that Anna being his sister wasn’t a concern. 

Castiel hung up the phone and wondered what just happened. That had to be one of the strangest conversations he has had. First Dean was concerned about what Anna would think and then told him that Anna wasn’t an issue? And he had expected Dean to be furious about the idea of being publicly accused of being with a man and worried about how this would affect his relationship with Bela, but he seemed more concerned over Castiel and Anna than himself. His head was spinning and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the alcohol or the perplexing hockey player.

One very long hot shower later, Castiel now finds himself sitting in a little café with a large mug of black coffee and a delicious looking pastry in front of him. The coffee is delicious as it warms, comforts, and wakens him. And he can feel his hangover ebbing as his mind slowly clears. Finally, he can relax. 

The more he thinks about it, the better he feels. Sure, one silly reporter made some false accusations, but Dean didn’t seem bothered by it and Bela must not be either if she doesn’t mind the friends going to the snowboarding competition together. He is feeling relief about Anna as well. He had been concerned that Dean would be uncomfortable being around him knowing he had once had a fling with his sister but Dean said that wasn’t a problem for him at all. 

That is good news indeed. He can continue to be friends with the hockey player without it being a concern for either his sister or Dean’s girlfriend. Sure, he had been disappointed when he found out about Bela, but really, Dean was just a fantasy to begin with. Aside from that one misreading of Dean’s intent to kiss him, which he still chides himself for being so silly about, he has always been certain that Dean was strictly into women. Dean has Bela and she is beautiful and talented and classy, a good match really, and Castiel is happy for his friend.

It is then that the voice on the café’s television catches his attention. Dean’s voice causes him to vibrate under his skin like a bell struck by a hammer. Dean is standing alone and he looks terribly uncomfortable with several microphones shoved in his face asking him about Bela. He manages a feigned smile and tells everyone that he appreciates their interest but he and Bela aren’t a couple any more but he wishes her the best at these Olympics. When the reporters continue to press him with questions about why they broke up and what is next for the athlete, he politely tells them that he prefers to keep his private life just that, private. 

Castiel doesn’t know what to feel. He is at first shocked and feels guilty. What if Dean’s breakup was his fault? What if it was because of the gossipy article someone wrote about him and Dean? And another small part of him (that he really tries hard to ignore) feels a glimmer of hope. What if Balthazar was right about Dean? What if Dean really was going to kiss him the other night? Castiel groans at his own confused mind and jumbled up feelings and wonders how he is going to get through this evening with Dean.

“Oh hell no!” Dean exclaims to the incredulous look on Castiel’s face. 

“I assure you, Dean, it’s perfectly safe.”

“What the fuck?! The schedule said this is where the snowboarding competition is being held.”

“Yes, this is where you show up, but the actual half-pipe is half way up the mountain. There’s no other way to get there, I’m afraid.”

Dean looks up at the ski lift that disappears into the dark of the night as it climbs higher and higher up the mountainside. The little benches are held up by one cable and there isn’t even anything holding you on the bench. As much as he hates flying, at least there he can get drunk, buckle in, and sleep through the ordeal. This, this is different. Dangling 60 feet above the mountainside from nothing but a cable on a small metal bench just feels like tempting fate. 

“What if we just watch the event on TV and tell her we showed up?” Dean raises his eyebrows at Castiel hopefully.

Cas just tilts his head and gives Dean one of the stupid knowing looks of his. “Do you really want to do that, Dean?”

Dean looks at the sincerity on Cas’ face and shit, he’s going to give in and get on the stupid disaster movie waiting to happen. Fuck! There’s not even time to get drunk first. 

“Son of a bitch,” he grumbles and tries to gather up what dignity he can as he puts his hand out to Cas to hand over the ticket to his doom. 

Cas, the bastard, does one of those little half smiles of his and Dean can’t figure out if he loves or hates that look. Dean just shakes his head and follows his friend to the line of people waiting to get onto the ski lift. He and Cas have both dressed in their own clothes tonight to blend into the crowd rather than stand out in their official country-issued attire. It feels a bit like armor as he shoves his hands into the comforting pockets of his olive green jacket over his well-worn soft blue flannel and comfortable old jeans. 

Cas, for his part, looks freaking fantastic (but what else is new). He’s wearing dark blue jeans that hug every part of his body just right with a navy blue v-neck sweater under a really sexy wool pea coat. He has a grey scarf slung around his neck and black gloves covering the long fingers Dean loves to admire. 

They stand in the line, side by side, moving slowly closer to the ski lift and Dean’s eyes keep drifting to Cas. Jesus, it’s like being pulled by a magnet. Every time he looks away, glances around the crowd, or up at the ominous cable cars disappearing up the mountainside, before long his gaze has drifted back to Cas without even realizing it. Each time he takes in another detail; the little crinkles at the corners of Cas’ eyes and the way they angle down on the outsides giving him a slightly melancholy look, the way his curious blue eyes scan the crowd and catch the light every once in a while, reflecting a color so deep Dean thinks he could stare at it all day, his full pink lips surrounded by dark stubble over a strong jaw. 

It’s a nice past time and one that helps to take his mind off of the idea of getting on the ski lift. A few fans recognize him or Cas and they graciously give autographs and photos, which is another temporary distraction. Unfortunately, the closer they get to the lift the more agitated Dean becomes. He thinks he is holding it in pretty well, standing stock still, posture rigid and eyes fixed anywhere but the mountain.

Cas, though, obviously isn’t fooled as he tilts his head in front of Dean to catch his eyes, “Dean, are you alright?”

“Yeah, man, just talking myself out of a panic attack. I fucking hate heights.”

“I understand. We don’t have to do this. Do you want to leave?”

“Naw, I can do this. Just… distract me,” Dean says, turning away from the mountain to face Castiel. “Talk to me, Cas.”

Castiel thinks for a moment and begins, “Did I ever tell you about my first regional competition? I was just a kid and I was scared to death. Everything went wrong. I was wearing this all white costume and I was so nervous I threw up my red slushie and let’s just say it didn’t all make it into the trash. So my costume was a mess. Then, the lace on my skate broke and all my coach could dig up for a spare was some pink sparkly thing he borrowed from another skater. Sadly, it matched my slushie stains.”

That at least gets a chuckle out of Dean and Castiel puts out his hand for Dean’s ticket which he hands over so Cas can give both tickets to the attendant who leads them to the spot where they will stand to board the lift. 

“So then, I’m out on the ice ready to start my program and the music starts at the wrong place. I’m thoroughly confused and I start crying right there on the ice. My father stomps out, waving for the music to stop and yells at the judges in Russian like a mad man.”

Castiel laughs at the memory and the sound relaxes Dean enough that he actually doesn’t freak out when the bench bumps the back of their legs and they jump onto the swaying seat and are lifted into the air.

“When I finally did get started to the correct music, I fell on every one of my first three jumps, spraining my wrist on the final fall. Everyone said I was the worst skater ever and shouldn’t have even made it to the regionals and that I should just stop skating.”

“Shit, Cas, that’s a horrible story.”

“Maybe,” Cas smirks at him, “but it got you on the lift.” He raises his eyebrows as the realization hits Dean that they are getting further and further off the ground. 

Dean makes the mistake of looking down and fuck, the lift is taking them up in the air and he can feel it bobbing slightly on the wire. He closes his eyes and starts humming. This calls for Metallica. It helps a little, probably not as much as the calming hand that he feels Cas put on his shoulder, though. 

“You’re doing great, Dean,” Castiel reassures him.

Dean nods but doesn’t open his eyes. He is just moving on from humming _Some Kind of Monster_ to _Nothing Else Matters_ when a gust of wind rocks the little seat and that’s it, he can feel his heart beating faster and his breathing getting shallow. God dammit, he hates his stupid phobia. How can he not have the slightest fear of a 300 pound goon in razor sharp skates yielding wooden stick and barreling down on him but a stupid ski lift turns him into a twitchy little girl?

And then he does it. He makes the ultimate mistake and opens his eyes only to realize now they have got to be fifty feet up with nothing but trees below them. His humming turns to a mumbled litany of curse words as his hands grip the arm rest and bench so hard he can feel the muscles straining all the way up his arms. He vaguely can hear Cas saying something to him but the panic is making the only thing he can hear right now the pounding of his own heart. 

Then suddenly he feels two hands on the sides of his face and his head abruptly turned to the side. He catches just the slightest glimpse of Cas’ eyes blazing with determination and concern, before Cas pulls him closer and brings their lips together. The shock of the kiss freezes him in place until he feels Cas tilt his head a little and move his mouth, urging all of Dean’s attention to those lips.

And just when Dean is about to catch on and become an active participant in the kiss the lips are gone, leaving only the cold wind against his now wet mouth. Castiel breaks the kiss, pulling back, hands still lingering on Dean’s face for a moment before they fly to his own mouth and his eyes go wide.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Cas breathes out. “I… I panicked. You were freaking out and I didn’t know what to do.”

“Cas,” Dean whispers and surges toward the smaller man grabbing the back of his neck and pulling their mouths back together. 

Castiel makes a little squeak of surprise before reaching up to cup the side of Dean’s face with his gloved hand. The kiss is perfect. It starts out soft and sweet and Dean gently pulls Cas’ bottom lip between his own. The prickles of Cas’ scruff against his mouth are like little pricks of lightning, igniting the fire inside of him. It’s been years since he has kissed a man and the feeling is so new and different that he has to keep himself from groaning out loud at the rush of blood that travels south. 

Cas’ tongue licks experimentally at Dean’s lips and Dean immediately gets on board with that, opening for Cas and letting his mouth be explored and tasted. God, Cas feels so good. And it’s not just the physical feeling of the kiss. There is something about Cas, some connection that he can’t even explain. He has been drawn to the figure skater since the first moment he was captured in those blue eyes. He has been falling steadily into Cas’ gravity since then and there is no escaping the draw now. He doesn’t even understand it. Why Cas? Sure, the man is gorgeous but it’s so much more than that. He doesn’t think he could have stayed away from Cas if he had tried. He is hypnotized by his voice, mesmerized by his eyes, calmed by his touch, and just about now immensely turned on by the way Cas’ tongue just swiped across the inside of his upper lip. And Dean shivers, actually shivers with the intensity.

Dean pulls back, breaks the kiss but not the contact, resting his forehead against Cas’ still holding onto the back of his neck. The two men breathe heavily, their hot breath coming out in clouds of white in the icy cold night air. Cas looks at Dean and his eyes ask a thousand questions. There is confusion and fear and cautious hope and something in Dean wants to kiss away everything until there is nothing left but surety. 

“Dean,” Cas breaths out and his eyes fall shut as he nuzzles his cold nose into Dean’s warm flushed cheek. 

“Jesus, Cas, what do you do to me?” Dean whispers as his lips caress Cas’ cheek.

“Anything you want,” Cas purrs seductively before pulling Dean’s earlobe between his lips.

Dean pulls back in surprise, making eye contact with Cas, who is looking at him with fuck-me eyes and a slightly upturned grin. And Dean dives in for another kiss, a deeper, exploring kiss that is full of heat and promise. They make out like a couple of horny teenagers, breath getting heavier and tongues reaching for that first taste of each other. Dean moves his kisses across Cas’ jaw until he can suck gently at the soft spot just under his ear. 

“Cas, how bad do you want to see the snowboarding?”

Cas tilts his head, giving the hockey player better access to his neck, “Not nearly as much as I want to see you naked.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Dean groans. Cas’ voice should have a mature audiences only rating because it might be the hottest thing Dean’s ever heard whispering shit like that into the cold night air. 

Dean still has one hand on Cas’ neck, stroking his cheek with his thumb while his tongue licks a path from his neck to his jaw. His other hand is still gripping firmly onto the edge of the seat. Yeah, making out with Cas may be a great distraction, but he’s still dangling fifty feet in the fucking air by a little cable. Cas, though, is definitely more adventurous. He has one hand gripping Dean’s shoulder and the other winding its way inside of Dean’s coat. And damn those gloves, Dean wants skin on skin now. 

But just as Dean is making his way back to Cas’ sweet mouth, Cas pushes him away, still holding tight to his shoulder and side and Dean only just manages to not whimper. 

“We’re… almost to the top,” Cas breathes out and looks to the right where just a few ski lifts in front of them people are disembarking. 

“Wanna stay on?” Dean asks and Cas nods enthusiastically, meeting his eyes, communicating exactly what he wants to do.

They each sit back in their seats, leaving a respectable amount of space between them, fidgeting and straightening clothes and hair as they approach the well-lit area at the top of the lift. Dean can’t get the stupid grin off his face and he’s pretty sure everyone around is going to be able to take one glance at him and read that he spent most of the ride up here with his tongue in another dude’s mouth.

But thankfully, the ski lift operator just directs them to get off but Dean responds with, “No, we have to head back,” and the man shrugs and lets go of their bench as they round the top of the apparatus and start their journey back down. 

And this time, Dean actually looks forward to the ride high over the mountainside in the dark with Cas. It definitely turns out to be the most fun he has ever had off the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of hockey information for this chapter: 
> 
> The title is _Gordie Howe Hat Trick_ – A hat trick in hockey is when the same player scores three goals in one game. It’s a pretty rare feat. A variation of that is the Gordie Howe hat trick. Howe is one of the greatest hockey players ever, so much so that he is actually known as Mr. Hockey. He was good at scoring and fighting and so the Gordie Howe hat trick was named after him. It’s when one player has an assist, a fight, and scores a goal all in one game. Dean earned himself an off ice Gordie Howe hat trick for assisting Sam, fighting with Crowley, and scoring with Cas.
> 
> This chapter that talks about “ _hockey tough_.” This is a saying that is commonly used around hockey because the players are so unbelievably bad-ass. The players I referred to in this chapter are Bobby Baun who famously played two Stanley Cup games on a badly broken ankle but refused x-rays because he knew how bad it was but wanted to play anyway. Also Maurice Richard (who I talked about in a previous chapter) scored what some people say was the greatest goal in the history of hockey. In the days before helmets he was knocked out, bloody and concussed but he got stitched up came back into the game with blood still dripping down his face to score the game winning goal. When basketball and baseball players take weeks off because of a strain, hockey players tough it out.


	12. Holding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can’t believe this is actually happening. He is sitting next to Cas in a cab on the way back to his room to continue the make-out session they started on the ride up the mountain.

Dean can’t believe this is actually happening. He is sitting next to Cas in a cab on the way back to his room to continue the make-out session they started on the ride up the mountain. The two have managed to keep their hands off of each other since they got off the ski lift, but just barely. And the one thing he can’t seem to stop doing is looking at Cas. Every time he catches Cas’ eyes it’s like he get stuck, lost, trapped in that gaze.

He manages to break away and stare out the window, willing himself to calm down. He really doesn’t want to come across like the nervous virgin here but in some ways he kind of is. Sure, he had had a little fun with one guy a few years ago -- some frottage and mutual blow jobs -- but it hadn’t really meant anything. It was all just a sloppy, drunken haze of sex. He didn’t even know or care what the guy’s last name was until the asshole tried to blackmail him. And after that disastrous experience he had sworn off men completely. Women were easier, and certainly less controversial. Plus, he had plenty of experience with girls. He’d been in and out of their beds since he was fifteen and was pretty sure a few of his exploits could make even a porn star blush. 

But this… _this_ is new. Cas is a dude, a seriously hot and pretty famous dude whose been out of the closet for years (and in the figure skating world at that – not exactly slim pickings for gay men). Not to mention, judging by the expert ways his tongue and hands and voice were seducing Dean on that ski lift, he knows his way around another man. And while Dean’s body is practically on fire thinking about all the implications of that, he’s also feeling a little nervous about holding up his end of this party. Fuck! He hasn’t been nervous about sex in years.

And then there’s the whole… _feelings_ thing. Dean hasn’t been able to stay away from Cas since the first moment he fell into the man’s amazing blue eyes. And every moment he has spent with him since then has been better than the last. Cas makes him feel fantastic. Around Cas he feels free to be exactly who he is and feels good to be just himself. He can turn off Dean Winchester number 67, first round draft pick, leading goal scorer, team captain, Olympian, face and voice of the team. Cas feels like home and comfort and Dean doesn’t even understand why.

He is lost in his thoughts until a warm ungloved hand lightly snakes its way over his thigh. He looks down at Cas’ hand, admiring the long graceful fingers as they inch slowly up his leg. Biting down on the groan that tries to escape his throat, he chances a glance at Cas, who has about the best poker face he’s ever seen. Seriously, the guy is staring straight ahead with an expression so stoic that no one would ever guess the sinful things his hands are doing in the back seat. Good thing too, because the taxi driver picks that moment to look in the rear view mirror and start up a conversation.

“So… athlete’s village, yes? Are you both competing?” The cab driver asks.

“Yes,” Cas answers, “My friend here plays hockey and I figure skate.”

The cab driver must recognize Cas’ accent because he says something in Russian to Cas who responds back in his native language. Dean is actually grateful that he doesn’t have to try to pay attention to the conversation because his mind is currently short circuiting as Cas’ pinky ever so lightly traces the inseam of his jeans over his now growing bulge. Jesus! He wants to throw his head back, let out the breath he is holding, and just get lost in that touch but he’s got to keep his shit together. He practically bites a hole on the inside of his lip when Cas’ nails drag up the inside of his thigh. 

By the time the car stops his jeans feel too tight and his clothes feel too warm and his heart rate feels too fast. His eyes meet Cas’ again and he nearly has to shake himself to clear his mind enough to shove some money at the cab driver and follow Cas out of the back seat. They manage to make it to Dean’s room and the moment the door is shut behind them Cas’ lips are back on his. 

Dean brings his hands up to cup the sides of Cas’ face where his cheeks are still cold and flushed from the frosty winter night. He savors every moment of the kiss. Cas’ lips are soft and full and they move gracefully along Dean’s, parting slightly when he slides his tongue experimentally over them. And then he feels Cas’ own tongue reach out to meet his, soft wet heat moving together. Cas takes his time, keeps the twists of their tongues together a light caress before he breaks the kiss with a little suck on Dean’s bottom lip.

“Jesus, Cas, you nearly killed me on that cab ride.”

Cas just grins at him all sex and wickedness and chuckles in that low sexy rumble. He yanks off his scarf and gloves and throws them onto the floor before surprising Dean when he surges forward for another kiss. This one is searching, all tongue and hands and Dean doesn’t even realize he has taken a step back until he is stopped by the solidness of the door behind him and trapped by the press of Cas’ body along his front. And what a body it is -- all muscle and strength and hard lines. 

Dean has wanted to touch Cas for days and now that he finally has him right here he wastes no time in running his hands down the skater’s sides until they find their way inside of his coat and under Cas’ sweater. The skin of his stomach is smooth and hot and Dean’s fingers can trace the solid defined lines of every muscle. Cas gasps into his mouth as his cool fingers caress his heated torso and the kiss turns into a grin. Dean mumbles and apology against his lips and takes mercy on him, pulling his hands out from under his shirt to instead work on taking off the man’s coat.

Cas separates them just far enough to get his arms out of his coat and let it fall to the floor. He’s so close, though, that Dean can’t see anything but those deep blue eyes. 

His hands start working on the buttons of Dean’s jacket and flannel shirt underneath and his mouth trails a line of kisses across his jaw line and down his neck. Dean can only lean his head back on the door and let out a soft whimper, giving Cas better access to his neck and letting himself get lost in the attention. His hand comes up to thread through the soft hair on the back of Cas’ head and it feels like running his fingers through silk.

Cas is breathing heavily and whispers into his ear, “What are you?”

Dean’s mind isn’t coherent enough at the moment to understand the meaning of the question and all he can manage is, “Hmmm?” 

Dean feels Cas nudge at his shoulders and he arches his back off of the door to let Cas guide his coat and flannel off, sliding his hands down Dean’s arms until their hands meet and they tangle their fingers together. It is such a tender and intimate gesture that it spreads warmth through Dean’s entire body.

“What do you like, top or bottom?” Cas asks again, and this time Dean gets exactly what he is being asked.

Dean tenses at the question, not sure how to answer. Cas must sense Dean’s hesitation and pulls back, meeting Dean’s eyes. Cas is looking at him… no into him as he tilts his head and squints. God, he’s intense!

“Dean, is this OK?”

“Yeah, Cas, it’s great,” Dean answers maybe a little too quickly. But after a beat, he swallows and adds, “It’s just… I…”

Understanding paints across Castiel’s face, “Dean… have you ever been with a man?”

Dean can’t stand the tender, open look on Cas’ face and falls back to his usual comedic responses to ease the tension, “Nope. Rookie here. Looks like you’re gonna be calling the plays.” 

Castiel laughs and rests his forehead on Dean’s collarbone, chuckling into the man’s chest. He looks back up at Dean with an infectious smile and asks, “Is this how it’s always going to be with you? Sports metaphors?”

Dean ignores the excited skip that his heart does at the implications of Cas’ question. The word _always_ sounds like Cas sees this thing between them as more than just a one nighter but he isn’t ready to deal with the future yet and decides to write it off as a figure of speech. 

Dean gives Cas one of his best sexy smirks and shrugs, “Pro athlete, man. Been fed a steady diet of ESPN and testosterone since I could walk.”

Cas rolls his eyes and deadpans, “In that case, you want to pitch, I’ll catch, and we’ll see if we can’t score a home run?”

Dean throws his head back and lets out a full belly laugh that comes from his core. It feels so good. He can’t remember when the last time he’s laughed like that with someone. It cuts all of the tension and he wraps his arms around Cas’ waist and kisses him again, and it feels perfect, like contentment and comfort and family. And how can this guy Dean’s only known a week make him feel like this?

Cas kisses Dean like he owns him. There is no hesitation or awkwardness, only a surge of lips and tongue and suction and fingers threading through his hair and soft moans of pleasure. Dean isn’t even sure who they come from he’s so far gone. Both men begin breathing heavier, a heady rush taking over and filling the space with want and need as the kisses deepen to something almost desperate.

Dean’s hands are shaking as he fumbles with Cas’ belt and the button on his pants. And thank God Cas catches on quickly and leans back just far enough to strip his shirt off. The sight of Cas shirtless though, muscles heaving with his deep breaths, is something worthy of pause. Dean’s fingers momentarily forget all about the belt and button he had been working on as they trace the outlines of Cas’ body slowly. 

“Jesus,” he breathes as his fingers ghost over Cas’ abs, “what artist carved this?”

Castiel is all lean muscle, sculpted six pack between sharp hip bones that disappear under the line of his jeans and Dean makes a promise to himself to taste that line with his tongue tonight. Running his hands over all of that smooth tanned skin is every bit as exhilarating as Dean’s fantasies. 

Cas doesn’t give Dean much time to admire the view, though, before he is tugging on the hem of Dean’s t-shirt and pulling it over his head to rub their bodies together, the feeling of flesh on flesh sends sparks down Dean’s spine. Cas’ hands work at Dean’s jeans while Dean continues to memorize every inch of the other man’s body with his hands. Cas gives Dean’s belt loops a little tug and he takes the hint as they stumble towards the bed wrapped around each other. 

A moment later, Dean is lying on the bed with six feet of sexy toned skater under him. Now that Cas has the front of his jeans undone they are loose and low around his hips and he winds his arms around Dean’s hips and under his jeans to squeeze his ass, causing their erections to rub together through their clothing. 

“Oh shit,” Dean groans at the feeling.

Cas plants his heels and lifts his hips, pressing further into Dean while also giving him access to remove his own pants. Dean takes this hint and helps him pull the rest of his clothes off in an awkward shuffle of hands and clothes. As soon as Cas is naked his hands are pushing on Dean’s jeans to free him of his own clothing. Dean lifts himself off of Cas and stands up to quickly get rid of his jeans before crawling back over the waiting body of Castiel.

He wants to dive back into that soft waiting mouth but is quickly distracted by the same hip bones he had noticed just minutes ago. He plants his mouth on one and sucks at the sensitive hollow, tracing the line with his tongue. Cas shivers and writhes under him and moans his name, his voice low and husky and pure sex, urging Dean for more. Dean is entranced by the pleasured sounds coming from Cas as he continues to kiss pleasure across his body, whispering praises into soft skin, and digging fingers into taut muscle.

He continues his exploration, touching and teasing and sucking Cas’ nipples and scooting lower caressing and supporting his legs as he sucks a line of marks into the man’s inner thighs. He looks up at the amazing view from between Cas’ legs to take in the sight of Cas with his head thrown back, mouth hanging open as ragged breaths escape his lips. His cock is pink and thick, solid and gleaming with pre-come. His chest is heaving and his hands are restless, one gripping the headboard and the other searching for Dean’s hand. Dean grabs it and intertwines their fingers and it feels like a lifeline for Castiel as a grateful, “Yes, Dean” escapes Cas’ mouth.

With his free hand he lets Cas’ leg go and gives his cock several long, slow pumps, eliciting a delicious hiss from the gorgeous skater. God! He could watch Cas like this all day. He is so beautiful, his body all defined muscle under golden skin. But what really takes Dean’s breath away is when Cas looks down at him, those impossibly blue eyes now a thin sapphire ring around dark, lust blown pupils. Those eyes are the first thing he can remember about Cas and it’s like they left an imprint on him somewhere deep under his skin and he has been drawn to him, caught in his gravity, ever since.

He has to be closer to them, needs to feel Cas’ deep gaze so he surges up, slotting their bodies together, cocks sliding silkily against one another as he strokes the dark stubble of his jaw and whispers Cas’ name, letting those eyes tear him apart. Their foreheads are touching as he takes in Cas’ beautiful eyes as their breath mingles between them. Cas lets go of his hand and reaches between them, stroking their lengths together and immense pleasure builds from the base of Dean’s spine, rolling out to every cell of his body.

Cas’ huffs, “Do you… have…”

“Yeah,” Dean grunts out and realizes it is going to take every ounce of willpower he possesses to stop and to rummage through his bag for lube and condoms. After one searing hard kiss he pushes himself back and clambers off the bed to retrieve the necessary supplies. The disappointed whimper that comes from Cas doesn’t escape him and he smiles at how adorable the sound is. For a second his brain tells him what a gay thought that is before he has to hold back a chuckle at the fact that he’s about to be balls deep in another dude’s ass. Pretty sure that trumps gooey thoughts on the gay scale. Man, he’s fucked up!

Thankfully, he is able to find the lube and condoms shoved in a side pocket quickly and when he turns back around, Cas is propped up on one elbow, slowly stroking himself with his free hand and staring at Dean with a hungry grin on his face.

“Like what you see, Cas?” Dean jokes and waggles his eyebrows, biting his bottom lip.

“Mmmm,” Cas nods, “you are exquisite, Dean.”

Jesus, sometimes Dean can’t believe the things Cas says. It’s not like Dean doesn’t know he’s attractive. He’s had to do his share of magazine spreads and found himself topping stupid “sexiest athletes” polls, but the way Cas says it sends a shiver up Dean’s spine. 

He drops down onto the bed on his side, propped on an elbow so that his body lines up beside Cas. The skater lays back and reaches for the back of Dean’s neck to pull him down for a kiss. For a moment, he is lost in the feeling of Cas’ tongue brushing his own, exploring his lips and sweeping the roof of his mouth. Cas might be the most amazing kisser he’s ever been with. He takes over stroking the skater, tracing the length of his cock, massaging the dip below the head and teasing the slit with his callused thumb. He revels in the way Cas moans into his mouth and thrusts into his hand. 

Never losing contact, he caresses down Cas’ length continuing on to ghost over his balls and lightly scrape the inside of his thigh with his fingernails before lifting Cas’ leg at the knee and draping it over his own thighs. He grabs the lube, squeezes a generous dollop into his hand and seeks out Cas’ perineum. He massages the sensitive skin and traces the outline of the puckered skin around his hole. And once he can feel Cas’ muscles begin to relax, he breaches the hole with one finger and Cas is so tight and hot around his finger that both men let out a filthy groan. 

Dean is still propped on his elbow hovering over Cas, wanting to take in every glorious twitch of muscle, hitch of breath, and especially the sight of his fingers thrusting in and out of Cas. He takes his time, exploring the man’s insides, stroking, circling, soothing. Cas is whispering a litany of incoherent phrases that include a lot of Dean’s name and he’s pretty sure he even hears some Russian in there. It doesn’t matter; just the sound of the man’s sex-drenched rumble as it’s murmured into the skin of Dean’s neck has him grinding mindlessly against Cas’ hip.

After a second and third finger join the first, twisting and stretching, Dean watches in wonder as he finds that bundle of nerves and Cas sucks in a shocked breath and becomes a quivering mess beside him. 

“Dean… I need… oh, God… now, Dean… please!”

Dean plants a soft kiss on Cas’ lips, promising, “I got you, Cas,” and pulls his fingers out to reach over and unwrap a condom. He quickly re-adjusts and settles himself between Cas’ legs, rolling the condom onto his ridiculously hard cock. Holding onto his length he lines up his head with Cas hole and stops. He leans over, face a breath away from Cas’ wanting to meet his eyes as he enters him. Cas cups both sides of his face between his hands and bores into Dean’s soul with his darkened eyes just as Dean thrusts forward.

The reaction is immediate and electric. Cas feels amazing around him, so hot and tight and Dean rocks gently back and forth deeper with each thrust. Cas’ breath matches his rhythm and he sucks in a beautiful gasp with each stroke. And when Dean bottoms out he stops, pauses to simply get lost in the glorious feeling of the other man’s heat surrounding him, the comforting tightness of arms and legs wrapped shamelessly around his body, the sensual scent of Cas and sex and sweat, and the warm feeling of home as he drowns in Cas’ eyes. 

“Oh fuck, Cas!” Dean breathes and he is met with a sexy little smile that takes his breath away. 

When the men start moving again they both become lost in each other, in sloppy kisses, in nibbling and sucking, in hands gripping hard enough to bruise. Dean rocks into Cas again and again, long slow strokes that have them both trembling, hard fast thrusts that have the men seeing stars, and one move so perfect he watches in wonder as Cas practically explodes around him. OK, right there then.

He continues to pound against that spot, stimulating Cas’ prostate with every stroke. 

“Oh God, Dean! Yes! There… don’t stop… holy-” 

Cas is a mess under him, moaning out beautiful ramblings and head thrown back in ecstasy. Dean eases his hold on Cas’ shoulders enough to get his hand between them and stroke the man’s cock, matching his own rhythm. And that’s all it takes, a few strokes and Cas’ heels slam against the bed as he arches his back and comes with a loud groan of Dean’s name, painting his stomach and Dean’s hand as his muscles clench around Dean’s hardness. And the pulsating squeeze of Cas around him is enough to make Dean come spilling over the edge right behind Cas, shattering all around him as stars burst behind his eyes.

Dean collapses half on top of Cas a soft, breathless, boneless pile of sex and sweat and euphoria. His nose is buried in the crook of the skater’s neck and he takes his time just breathing in everything that is Cas, his smell, the slightly salty taste of his sweat, the rough feeling of his stubble against Dean’s cheek. He lets himself bask for a moment in the essence of the connection that they had just shared. 

He is pulled out of his trance by the light touch of fingers tracing the hairline on his temple before threading through his hair, massaging his scalp. God! He nearly purrs it feels so good. Instead, he groans softly as he shifts and pulls out of Cas, rolling back to remove and discard the condom. Cas untangles himself from Dean and grabs the tissues from the side of the bed to clean themselves up with. And just like the magnets that they seem to be, a moment later they both find themselves tangled together under a sea of soft blankets, Cas’ head resting on Dean’s chest and leg tucked between the hockey player’s.

Dean pull’s Cas closer towards him so that he can rest his lips on the man’s forehead. The position reminds him of way that they had woken up together this morning. Was it really just a few hours ago? Could his life really have changed so much in a day? The soreness in his knuckles and face confirm that it was only yesterday that he had fought Lucifer on the ice but it somehow seems a lifetime ago. Only 24 short hours ago Sam was fine, Dean had a made-up relationship with Bela for the media, and being with Cas was just a fantasy. Now Sam is in the hospital, the evil combination of Bela and Crowley have it out for him, and a naked Cas is draped across him tickling his chest with soft breaths. For better or worse, his life has officially been turned upside down.

“Cas.”

“Hmm?” He responds sleepily.

“How did you… you know… come out?”

“Well, I was pretty much shoved out. My first kiss was this older boy in my skating club, Ryan. He was talented and cocky and had won enough skating medals to make him a rock star in my 15-year-old eyes. I kind of followed him around with cartoon hearts in my eyes for weeks and he ate up every bit of the attention. One day, we were alone in the locker room and he just kissed me out of nowhere. But when some of the hockey boys walked in and saw us, he pushed me back into the lockers and called me a faggot and told everyone that I had forced myself on him.”

“Shit,” Dean breathes and finds himself instinctually holding him a little closer. “So what ever happened to Ryan the douchebag?”

Cas shrugs his free shoulder, “He never made it in competitive skating. Last I heard he was a salesman in California. Oh, and he married his boyfriend the minute DOMA was overturned.”

“Asshole,” Dean mutters.

“More like young and stupid and scared.” 

Cas traces random lines on Dean’s chest with his fingers taking a deep breath before continuing, “Anna wasn’t surprised, of course. She’s my sister, said she’d pretty much known for years. But news got to my father. He is… a very traditional Russian. He thought it was just the American influence on me and he was going to take me away from skating and make me move back here to _cure_ me. Balthazar tried to convince him to let me stay, said that moving would interrupt my training and my career. It was finally Anna who convinced him that I would be just as gay in Russia and therefore even more of an embarrassment to our family there.”

He pauses for a beat and the air is thick with the sadness of his loss. Dean doesn’t dare interrupt; the moment feels precarious, delicate, like it would shrivel like a touch-me-not at the slightest movement.

Castiel swallows and lets out a shaky breath, “He left, moved back here and hasn’t spoken to me since. Anna was eighteen so she stayed in the States with me and we both worked our asses off so I could keep training. We got scholarships, prize money, and sponsors to pay for stuff like ice time and skates and travel to competitions. And Balthazar let us stay with him and barely took any money for training. I owe them everything.”

Dean tilts Cas’ chin up to look at the man, whose eyes are even darker and more sad than usual. No wonder they connected so easily, both left by their fathers to survive practically on their own, both struggled to keep their precarious little families together. 

“I guess we’re both a couple of orphans, huh?” Dean says and places his lips softly on Cas’. 

Castiel surges desperately into the kiss, clinging to Dean like salvation. And Dean suddenly realizes how deep he is in. He hadn’t expected Cas to light some kind of fire inside of him, some desire to protect and heal and shelter and _keep_ Cas. He wraps himself around the man, holding tightly, stroking a soothing rhythm into his hair, melding their bodies together until he can’t tell where he ends and Cas begins. 

They fall asleep like that, pulled together by some gravity that Dean doesn’t understand but still held apart by a world that doesn’t understand them.


End file.
